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Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la m^thode. errata I to t } pelure, on d n 32X 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 e POPULAR NOVELS BY MAY AGNES FLEMING. I I.— oUY EARLSCOURT'S WIFE. 3.- A WONDERFUL WOMAN. 3.— A TERRIBLE SECRET. 4.— NORINE'S REVENGE. 5.— A MAD MARRIAGE. 6.— ONE NIGHT'S MYSTERY. 7.— KATE DANTON. 8.— SILENT AND TRUE, 9.— HEIR OF CHARLTON, 10.— CARRIED BY STORM, II.— LOST FOR A WOMAN, 12.— A WIFE'S TRAGEDY, 13— A CHANGED HEART, 14— PRIDE AND PASSION, 15— SHARING HER CRIME, 16— A WRONGED WIFE, 17— MAUDE PERCY'S SECRET, 18— THE ACTRESS' DAUGHTER, 19.— THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE, aa— THE MIDNIGHT QUEEN. 21.— EDITH PERCIVAL. 3a — WEDDED FOR PIQUE. 33.— A FATEFUL ABDUCTION. 24.— THE SISTERS OF TORWOOD. (New). "Mrs. Fleming's ?tories are growing more and more popular every day. Their delineations of character, life-like con- versations, flashes of wit, constantly varying scenes, and deeply interesting plots, combine to place their author in the very first rank of Modern Novelists," Elegantly bound in cloth, Price $1.00 each, and sent FREE by mail on receipt of price, by G. W. Dillingliani Co., Publishers, NEW YORK. SHARING HER CRIME. 3. JCooeL MAY AGNES FLEMING, AtTUOR OF ■AILSCOURT's wife, " " a terrible SECRBT, " " SILZNT AJID TEJIE, '' A WONDERFUL WOMAN, >> t< LOST FOR A WOMAN/ "ONK night's mystery," " A MAC MARUAOl,' ETC. EiC ' A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command) And yet a spirit still and bright. With something of an angel light." 'J'^ '.'(1 ^ 'M NEW YORK: CH W: DiUingham Co., Publisk^n, --4 PS 1(7? V ^ W. CARLETON ft OOd CONTENTS. I. The Plotter! 7 II. The Death of Esther 18 III. The Astrologer 24 IV. Barry Oranmore 99 V. Mount Sunset Hall 37 VI. Lizzie's Lover 49 Vn. The Cypress Wreath 6a Vin. Gipsy 70 IX. A Storm at Mount Sunset Hall 8s X. Miss Hagar 91 XL Gipsy Outwits the Squire lOX XII. The Tigress and the Dove 109 XIII. Gipsy astonishes the Natives X19 XIV. The Moonlight Flitting xjo XV The •• Star of the Valley." 139 XVL Our Gipsy ISO XVn. Gipsy't Return to Sunset Mall i|8 i i ■Hi i>-\ ?»| ■ * u ' If .-ill ^v fi CONTENTS. XVIII. Archie 169 XIX. Gipsy's Daring l8a XX. The Sailor Boy's Doom 191 XXI. The Spider Weaves his Web 904 XXII Fetters for the Eaglet ais XXIII The Bird *:aged aaa XXIV. May and P-cember 135 XXV. Archib's Lost Love S46 XXVL Louis S54 XXVII. Love at First Sight 967 XXVIIL " The Old, Old Story." ■77 XXIX. The Rivals S«7 XXX. Gipsy Hunts New Game S96 XXXI. Celeste's Trial yOb XXXn. "The Queen of Song." 318 XXXIIL A Startling Oiscovery 338 XXXIV. Light in the Darkness ... 334 XXXV. The Death-bed Confession 341 XXXVL Retribution 3>i XXXVn. Another Surprise 357 KXXVin. Tbe He-ress of Sunset Hall...... 364 XXXIZ. * Lut Sc«ne of AU." nS .. i69 ... i8a ... 191 ... ao4 .. ais ,.. aaa .. ass ... 146 .. tS4 ... a67 .. 177 ... s97 .. 196 ... S06 ... 3x8 ... sa8 • 334 • 341 .. 3)1 • 3S7 . 364 . t7S SHARING HER CRIME. CHAPTER I. THE PLOTTERS. " Tis a woman hard of festare, Old, and void of all good nature. *Tis an ugly, envious shrew, Railing forever at me and yon." — Pon. T was Christmas Eve. All day long crowds oi gayiy dressed people had w;ilked the streets, basking in the bright wintry sunshine. Sleigh after sleigh went dashing past, with merrily jingling bells, freighted with rosy cheeks, and bright eyes, and youthful faces, all agiow with happi- ness. But the sun must set on Christmas Eve, as on all other days ; and redly, threateningly, angrily, he sank down in the far west. Dark, sullen clouds came rolling ominously over the heavens ; the wind blew piercingly cold, accompanied with a thin, drizzling rain that froze ere it fell. Gradually the streets were dtserted as the storm i»- (7J M^ TH£ PLOTTBKS. \' creased in fury ; Dut the Yule logs were piled h.gh, tha curtains drawn, and every house, save onCy i.i the handsome •treet to whicli my story leads me, was all aglow, ali ablaze with light. In a lull of the storm the sounds of music and merry- making would rise and swell on the air, as light feet tripped merrily amid the mazes of the dance ; or a sil- very peal of laughter would break easily on the way- farer's ear. The reflection of the light through the crimson curtains shed a warm, rosy glow over the snowy ground, brightening Uie gloom of that stormy winter's night. Bui rising dark, grim, and gloomy amid those gayly lighted mansions, stood a large, quaint building of dark- red sandstone. It stood by itself, spectral, shadowy, and grand. No ray of lii^bt came from the gloomy windows that seemed to be hermetically sealed. All around was stern, black, and forbidding. i\nd yet — yes, from one solitary window there did stream a long, thin line of light. But even this did not look bright and cheerful like the rest ; it had a cold, yel- lowish glare, making tiie utter blackness of the rest of ihc mansion blacker still by contrast. The room from which the light issued was high and iofty. The uncarpeted tioor was of black polished oak, as also were the wainscoting and mantel. The walls w«rc covered with landscape paper, representing the hideous Danrjc of Death, in all its variety of frightful forms. The high windows were hung with heavy green damask, now black with dirt and age. A large circular table of black marble stood in one shadowy corner, and a dark, hard sofa, so long and black that it resembled a coffin, stood in the other. A smoldering sea-coal fire, the only cheerful thing in that gloopiy room, struggled for life in the wide, yf^wn* a ^Ik THE PLOTTERS. I'gh. the indsome [low, aU i merry- ght feet )r A si!- he way- ijrh the a" e snowy winter's je gayly of dark- wy, and windows ind was lere dii did not old, yel- rest of gh and ed oak, 3 walls ng the ightful 1 green circular er, and ibled a liing in yawn- ing chimney, Now it would die away, enveloping the apartment in gloom, and anon flame fitfully up, until the ghostly shadows on the wall would seem like a train of ghastly specters flitting by in the darkness. The elm trees in front of the house trailed their long Rrrfls Against the window with a sound inexpressibly dreary ; and the driving hail beat clamorously, as if for admittance. On either side of the fire-place stood two large easy* chairs, cushioned with deep crimson velvet. In these, facing each other, sat two picrsons — a man and a woman — the only occupants of the room. The woman was tall, straight, and stiflF, and seemingly about fifty years of age. Her dress was a rustling black satin, with a small crape handkerchief fastened on her bosom with a magnificent diamond pin. Her hands, still small and wliite, were flashing with jewels as they lay quietly folded in her lap. A widow's cap rested on her head, which was alternately streaked with gray and jet. But her face — so stern, so rigid, no one could look upob it without a feeling of fear. The lips — so thin that she seemed to have no lips at all — were compressed with a look of unswerving determination. Her forehead was low and retreating, with tliick black eyebrows meeting across the long, sharp nose, with a look at once haughty and sinister. And from under those midnight brov/s glittered and gleamed a pair of eyes so small, so sharp and keen — with such a look of cold, searching, sUely brightness — that the boldest gaze might well quail before them. On that grim, hard face no trace of womanly feeling seemed ever to have lingered — all was stern, harsh, and freezingly cold. She sat rigidly erect in her chair, with her needle-like eyes riveted immovably on the face of her companion, who shifted with evident uneasiness beneath her uncompromising stare. He was a man of forty, or thereabouts, so tmall e4 lo THE PLOTTERS, itat/ite that, standing side by side, he coi:..d scarccij aaya reached the woman's shoulder. But, nDtwithstanding his diminutive size, his limbs were disproport'onately lon^e ^or his body, giving him the appearance oi being all legs and arms. His little, round bullet-head was set un a prodigiously thick, bull-like neck ; and his hair, short, and bristling up over his head, gave him very much the* look of the sun, as pictured m the alma- nacs. This prepossessing^ gentleman was arrayed in an im- maculate suit of black, with a spotless white dickey, bristling with starch and dignity, and a most excruciat- ing cravat. Half a dozen rings garnished his claw-like hands, and a prodigious quantity of watch-chain dangled from his vest. The worthy twain were engaged in deep and earnest conversation, "Well, doctor," said the lady, in a cold, measured tone, that was evidently habitual, " no doubt you arc wondering why I sent for you in such haste to-night." •^^ I never wonder, madam," said the doctor, in a pom- pous tone — which, considering his size, was quite impos- ing. *'No doubt you have some excellent reason for sending for me, which, if necessary for mc to know, you will explain." " You are right, doctor," said the lady, with a grim sort of smile. " I have an excellent reason for sending for you. You are fond of money, I know." " Why, madam, although it is the root of all evil " " Tush, man ! There is no need for Satan to quote Sciipture just now," she interrupted with a sneer. " Say, doctor, what would you do to earn five hundred dollars to-night ?" "Five hundred dollars.?" said the doctor, bis small eyes sparkling, while a gleam of satisfaction lighted up bi« withered face. % THE PLOTTERS. II cti^ aaT6 ^standing -t'onately \ oi being d was set his hair, lim very he alma- in an im- e dickey, sxcruciat- clavv-like 1 dangled d in deep measured t you are night." m a pom- te impos- jason for now, you th a grim r sending evii to quote er. "Say, id dollars Ills small ghted up ^t ■€ " Yes," said tlie lady, " and if well donc» I Jiay douole the sum. Whrii \V(;ii!(l you do for such a pri;e ?" " Rather ask mc wliat I would not do." '• Well, ti'ic job is an easy one. 'Tis but to " She pausc;rl, and fixed her eyes on his face A^ith such a wild sort of gleam that, involuntarily, he qjailcd be- fore her. " Pray go on, niadain. I'm all attention," he sail, almost fearing to break the dismal silence. " Tis but to— ^chai /" " Make away with — a woman and child !" " Murder them ?" said the doctor, involuntarily recoil* ing. " Do not use that word !" she said, sharply. " Cow- ard ! do you really blanch and draw back ! Methought one of your profession would not hesitate to send a patient to heaven." "But, madam," said the startled doctor, "you know the penalty which tiie law awards for murder." " Oh, I perceive," said the woman, scornfully, " it is not the crime you are thinking of, but your own preci- ous neck. Fear nut, my good friend ; there is no danger of its ever beini; discovered." " But, my dear madam," said the doctor, glancing un- easily at the stern, bitter face before him, " I have not the nerve, the strength, nor th*^ " ^* Courage r she broke in, pn-- onately. "Oh, craven — weak, chicken-hearted, miserable craven ! Go, then — leave me, and I will do it myself. You dare not betray me — you could not without bringing your neck to the halter — so 1 fear you not. Oh, coward ! coward ! why did not heaven make me a man V In her fierce outburst of passion she arose to her feet, and her tall figure loomed up like some unnaturally large, dark shadow. The mtn quailed in fear before her. f'l2 « 1*. ra THE PLOTTERS, I "Go !" she said, fiercely, pointing to the door, ** You have refused to share my crime. Go ! poor cowardly pol- troon ! but remember, Madge Oranmore never forgives nor forgets !" *• But, my dear Mrs. Oranmore, just listen to me one momeRt," said the doctor, alarmed by this threat. " I ha'^e not refused, I only objected. If you will have the goodness to explain — to tell me what I must do, I will — see about it." " See about it !" hastily Interrupted the lady. " You can do it — it is in your power ; and yes, or no, must be your answer, immediately." " But " *' No buts, sir. I will not have them. If you answer yes, one thousand dollars and my future patronage shall be yours. If you say no, yonder is the door ; and once you have crossed the threshold, beware ! Now, Doctor Wiseman, I await your reply." She seated herself again in her chair ; and, folding her hands in her lap, fixed her hawk-like eyes on his face, with her keen, searching gaze. His eyes were bent in troubled thought on the floor. Not that the crime appalled him ; but if detected — that was the rub. Doc- tor Wiseman was, as his name implies, a man of sense, with an exceedingly accommodating conscience, that would stretch ad libi^-.v' and never troubled him with anv such nonsense as jmorse. But if it were discov- ered ! With rather unpleasant vividness, the vision of a hangman and halter arose befc re him, and he involun- tarily loosened his cravat. Still, one thousana dollars were tempting. Doctor Nicholas Wiseman had never been so perplexed in his life. " Well, doctor, well," impatiently broke in the Udy, •* have you decided— ^« or na f i#. :\ % -[. TffA FLOTTRRS. n >r, -You irdly pol- • forgives o me one reat. " I have the , I will— r. " You must be >u answer lage shall and once Doctor 3, folding i^es on his were bent the crime lb. Doc- of sense, nee, that him with e discov- sion of a involun- a dollars ad never the Udy, " Yes," said the doctor, driren to desperat cti 37 he? sneering tone. ** Tis well," she replied, with a mocking sraile> " I knew you were too sensible a man to refuse. After all, 'tis but a moment's work, and all is over." " Will you be good enough to give me the explana- tion now, madam ?" said the doctor, almost shuddering At the cold, unfeeling tone in which she spoKC. " Certainly. You are aware, doctor, that when 1 . married my late husband, Mr. Oranmore, he was a wid- ower with one son, then three years old," " I am aware of that fact, madam." " Well, you also know that when this child, Alfred was five years of age, my son, Barry, was born." "Yes, madam." " Perhaps you think it unnecessary for me to go so far back, doctor, but I wish everything to be perfectly understood. Well, these two boys grew up together, were sent to school and college together, and treated in every way alike, outwardly ; but, of course, when at home, Barry was treated best. Alfred Oranmore had all the pride of his English forefathers, and scorned to com- plain ; but I could see, 'n his flashing eyes and curling lips, that every slight was noticed. Mr. Oranmore never interfered with me in my household arrangements, nor did his son ever complain to him ; though, if he had, Mr. Oranmore had too much good sense to mention it to mer The lady compressed her lips with stately dignity, and the doctor looked down with something as near a smile as his wrinkled lips could wear. He knew very well Mr. OranmDre would not have interfered ; for never after his marriage had the poor man dared to call his soul his own. The lady, howc^rer, did not perceive the smile, and went on : ''•N .1 in . I'r'. K m T » »."( >4 THE PLOTTERS, " When Barry left college, he expressed a desire to travel for two or three years on the Continent ; and I readily gave hi in permission, for Mr. Oranmo'e was then dead. Alfred was studying law, and I knaw his uearestwish was to travel ; but, as a matter of course, it was out of the quesvion for him to go. I told him { could not afford it, that ic would cost a great deal to pay Barry's expenses, and that he must give up all idea of it. Barry went, and Alfred staid ; though, as things afterward turned out, it would have been better had 1 allowed him to go." Her eyes Hashed, and her brows knit with rising an- ger, as she continued ; "You know old Magnus Erliston — Squire Erliston, as they call him. You know also how very wealthy he is reputed to be — owning, besides the magnificent estate of Mount Sunset, a goodly portion of the village of St. Mark's. Well, Squire Erliston has two daughters, to the eldest of whom, in accordance with the will of his father (from whom he received the property). Mount Sunset Hall will descend. Before my husband's death, I caused him to will his whole property to my son Barry, leaving Alfred penniless. Barry's fortune, therefore, is large, though far from being as enormous as that Esther Erliston was to have. Well, the squire and I agreed that, as soon as Barry returned from Europe they should be married, and thus unite the estates of Oranmore and Erliston. Neither Barry nor Esther, with the usual ab- surdity of youth, would agree to this arrangemert ; but, of course, their objection mattered little. I knew ! could easily manage Barry by the power of my stronger will ; and the squire, who is rough and blustering, could, with- out mnch difficulty, frighten Esther into complian-:e — when all our schemes were suddenly frustrated by that meddler, that busy-body, Alfred Oranirore." !>, THE PLOTTERS. lesire to : ; and I o'e was navv his " course, old him deal to all idea s things T had 1 sing an- llrliston, althy he nt estate re of St. Iters, to 1 of hiv«5 Mount death, n Barry, efore, is ; Esther agreed should ore and sua] ab< :t ; but, I could er will ; id, with- lian-je — by that ■I She paitsrcd, and again her eyes gleamed with eaocen- tnited natred and passion. " He went to Mount Sunset, and by some means met Esther Erliston. Being what romantic writers would sail one of 'nature's princes,' he easily succeeded in making a fool of her ; they eloped, were married secret- ly, and Squire Erliston woke up one morning to learn that his dainty lieiwess had abandoned papa for the arms of a beggar^ and was, as the wife of a penniless lawyer, residing in the goodly city of Washington. " Pretty Esther douhilcss imagined that she had only to throw herself at papa's feet and bathe them with her tears, to be received with open arms. But the young lady found herself slightly mistaken. Squire Erliston stamped, and raged, and swore, and frightened every one in St. Mark's out of their wits ; and then, calming down, * vowed a vow' never to see or acknowledge his daughter more. Esther was then eighteen. If she lived to reach her majority, Mount Sunset would be hers in spite of him. Bwt fhe squire had vowed that before she should get it, he would burn Sunset Hall to the ground and plow the land with salt. Now, doctor, I heard that, and set myself to work. Squire Erliston has a younger daughter ; and I knew thai:, if Esther died, that younger daughter would become heiress to all the property, and she would then be just as good a wife for Barry as her wster. Well, I resolved that Esther should no longer stand in my way, that she should never ive to reach her majority. Start not, doctor, I see that you do not yet know Madge Oranmore." She looked like a very fiend, as she sat smirng grimly at him from her seat. " Fortune favored me," she continued. " Alfred Or- anmore, with two or three other you..g men, going out one day for a sail, wis overtaken by a sudden squall'— «ard 5ct o.-t for ed Esther husband's She did ersuading re arrived. >Q that the yreat pov- y into the her death quarter is whisper, lady, with few words icd home ; 1 to reside I the city, there any nrident isionately. f him r him from "Yes, I oth ! But St contra- ct any one handsome Ohr Imt for my indignation I could lauj^^h at the utter sbiur^ dity." But the fierce gleam of her eye, and the passionate clenching of her hand, bespoke her in anything but a laughing humor. "I would not for worlds this report should reach Lizzie Erliston," she said, somewhat more calmly. "And speaking of her brings me back to her sister. Doctor, Esther Oranmore lies in yonder room." He startled slightly, and glanced uneasily in the di- rection, but said nothing. "Doctor," continued Mrs. Oranmore, in a low, stem, impressive voice, while her piercing eyes seemed read- ing his very soul, "j^ must never live to see the sun riu again ! " Madam !" he exclaimed, recoiling suddenly. " You hear me, doctor, and you must obey. She must not live to see Christmas morning dawn." " Would you have me murder her ?" he inquired, in a voice quivering between fear and horror. " If you will call it by that name, yes," she replied, still keeping her blazing eyes fixed immovably on his face. "She and her child must die." "Her child!" " Yes, come and see it. The night of its birth must he that of its death." She rose, and making a motion for him to follow her, led the way from the apartment. Opening a heavy oaken door, she ushered him into a dim bed-iootsi, fur- nished with a liunge, a square bedstead, whost dark diapery gave it the appearance of a hearse, and a small table covered with bottles and glasses. Going io the lounge, she pointed to something wrapped in a large shawl. He bent down, and the faint wail of an infant met his "» <-! i i> ■ -m m J • !v If THE DEATH OF ESTHER. " She is yonder," said the lady, pointing to the i)cd ; "examine these bottles; she will ask you for a drink, give it to her — you understand I Remember, you have promised." And before he could speak, she glided from the room. CHAPTER II. THE DEATH OF ESTHER. i ! I "What shrieking spirit in that bloody room Its mortal frame hath violently quitted? Across the moonbeam, with a sudden gleam, A ghostly shadow tiittcd." — Hood. OR a moment he stood still, stunned and be- wildered. Understand ? Yes, he understood her too well. He approached the bed, and softly drew back the heavy, dark curtains. Lying there, in a troubled sleep, lay a young girl, whose face wa3 whiter than the pillow which supported her. Her long hair streamed in wild disorder over her shoulders, and added to the wanness of her pale face. She moaned and turned restlessly on her pillow, and opened a pair of large, wild eyes, and fixed them on the unprepossessing face bending over her. With lips and eyes opened with terror, she lay gazing, until he said, in as gentle a voice as he could assume ; " Do not be afraid of me — I am the doctor. Can I do anything for you, child ?' " Yes, yes," she replied, faintly ; " give me a drink." He turned hastily toward the table, feeling so giddy he could scarcelv stand. A tiny vial, containing a clear, 1' I, THE DEATH OF ESTHER, >9 o the ued ; for a drink, , you have g^lided from led and be- understood softly drew ^ying there, se face was Her long sulders, and pillow, and hem on the ips and eyes said, in as r. Can I do le a drink." ig so giddy ling a clear, Colorless liquid, attracted iiis eye. He took it up and ■^ examined ii, and yetting his teelh hard together, poaied itscuntems into a g ass. Then filling it with water lie apjiroathed the bed, ar.d raising her head, pressed it to her lips. IIis hand trembled sc he spilt it on the quilt. The young girl lifted her wild, troubled eyes, and fixed ihem oa his face with a gaze so long and steady that his own fel. beneath it. *' Drink !' he said, hoarsely, still pressing it to her lips. Without a word she obeyed, draining it to the last drop. Then laying her back on the pillow, he drew the curtain and left the room. Mrs. Oranmore was sitting, as she had sat ali the evening, stern and upright in her chair. She lifted hei keen eyes a j he entered, and encountered a face so pallid and ghastly that she almost started. Doctor Wiseman tottered rather than walked to a seat. " Well ?" she said, inquiringly. "Well," he replied, hoarsely, "I hare obeyed you." *• That is well. But pray, Doctor Wiseman, take a glass of wine ; you are positively trembling like a whipped schoolboy. Go to the sideboard ; nay, do not hesitate ; it is not poisoned." Her withering sneer did more tovrard reviving him than any wine could have done. H;s excitement was gradually cooling down beneath those calm, steady ayes, Sent so contemptuously upon him. He drank a glass of wine, aud resumed his seat before the Qre, watching sullenly the dying embeid. ** Well, you have performed your c^sk ?" " I have, madam, and earned my reward." *' Not quite, doctor ; the infak*. if yet U b% dit posed of.' "Must it die. too?" ':!'-" »■ '.■•if. % ■;y THE DEATH OF SSTffMM, '■•# \ .1 • *Yes, but not here. You must remove It, in an? way you please, but death is the safest, the surest" " And why not here ?" " Because I do not wish it," she answered, haughtily; ** that is enough for you, sirrah ! You must take the child away to-night." "What shall I do with it?" "Dolt! blockhead! have you no brains?" she said passionately. " Are you aware ten minutes' walk will bring you to the sea-side ? Do you know the waves re- fuse nothing, and tell no tales ? Never hesitate, man ! You have gone too far to draw back. Think of the re- ward ; one thousand dollars for ten minutes' work I Tush, doctor ! I protest, you're trembling like a nervous girl." " Is it not enough to make one tremble ?" retorted the doctor, roused to something like passion by her deriding tone ; " two murders in one night — is that nothing ?" " Pshaw I no — a sickly girl and a puling child more or less in the world is no great loss. Hark I" she added, rising suddenly, as a wild, piercing shriek of more than mortal agony broke from the room where Esther lay. " Did you hear that ?" Hear it I The man's face was horribly ghastly and livid, as shriek after shriek, wild, piercing, and shrill with anguish, buret upon his ear. Great drops of per- spiration stood on his brow — his teeth chattered as though by an ague fit, and he trembled so perceptibly that he was forced to grasp the chair for support. Not so the woman. She stood calm, listening with perfect composure to the agonizing cries, that were grow- ing fainter and fainter each moment. " It is well none of the servants are in this end of the house," she said, quietly ; "or those loud tcreami would I' I :• : THM DEATH OF ESTMJUL •f it, in aaf •est" haughtily; t take the " she said walk will I waves re- tate, man ! of the re- :es' work ! a nervous •" retorted )n by her it — is that child more she added, more than Esther lay. hastly and and shrill ps of per- ittered as >erceptibly ort. ining' with vcre grow- end of the ami would be overheard, and might give rise to disagreeable re- marks." Receiving no answer from her companion, she turned to him, and seeing the look of liorror on his ghastly face, her lip curled with involuntary scorn. It was f.trange she could stand there so unmoved, knowing her- j.clf to be a murderess, with the dying cries of her victim ilill ringing in her ears. They ceased at last — died away in a low, despairing moan, and then all grew still. The deep, solemn silence was more appalling than her shrieks had been, for they well knew they were stilled forever in death. " All is over !" said Mrs. Oranmorc, drawing a deep breath. " Yes," was the answer, in a voice so hoarse and un- natural, that it seemed to issue from the jaws of death. Again she looked at him, and again the mocking smile curled her lip. '* Doctor," she said, quietly, ** you are a greater coward than I ever took you to be. I am going in now to see her — you had better follow me, if you are not a/raidr How sardonic was the smile which accompanied these words. Stunned, terrified as he was, it stung him, and he started after her from the room. They entered the chamber of the invalid. Mrs. Gran more walked to the bed, drew back the curtains, and disclosed a frightlu. spectacle. Half sitting, half lying, in a strange, distorted attitude she had thrown herself into in her dying agony, her lips swollen and purple, her eyes protruding, her hair torn fiercely out by the roots, as she had clutched it in her fierce anguish, was Esther. The straining eyeballs were ghastlj to look apon — € %4 ?«'#-- I I sa TIU\ DEATH OF ESTHER. the once beautiful face was now swollen and hideous> ai she lay stark dead in that lonely room. Moment after moment passed away, while the mur defers stood silently gazing on their victim. The deep silence of midni;;ht was around — nothing was heard save r.he occasional drifting of the snow against the windows. A stern, grave smile liovered on the lips of Mrs. Oranmore, as she gazed on the convulsed face of the dead girl. Drawing the quilt at last over her, she turned away, saying, mockingly : " Where now, Esther Oranmore, is the beauty of which you were so proud ? This stark form and ghastly face is now all that remains of the beauty and heiress of Squire Erliston. Such shall be the fate, sooner or later, of all who dare to thwart me." Her eyes llamed upon the shrinking man beside her, with an expression that made him quake. A grim smile of self-satisfied power broke over her dark face as she observed it, and her voice had a steely tone of command, as she said : " Now for the child. It must be immediately disposed of." " And sheV said the doctor, pointing to the bed. " I shall attend to that." " If you like, madam, I will save you the trouble." " No, sir," she replied, sharply; "though in life my enemy, her remains shall never be given up to the dis- secting-knife. I have not forgotten she is a gentleman's daughter, and as such she shall be interred. Now you may go Wrap the child in this, and — return ivtthout herr " You shall be obeyed, madam," said Doctor Wise man, catching the infection of her reckless spirit. Me stooped and raised the infant, who was still in a deep sleep. y\\ THE DEATH OF ESTHER, n lideous, ai J the mur The dpcp heard sa\5 5 windows. )S of Mrs. ace of the she turned y of which lastly face IS of Squire Iter, of all 3cside her, grim smile face as she command, ly disposed ebed. rouble." in life my to the dis- entleman's Now you irn without ctor Wise spirit He 1 in a deep '•% Muffling it carefully in the shawl, he followeo the ikdy from the room, and cautiously quitted the house. The storm had now passed away ; the piercing wind had ciedout, and tiie midnight moon sailed in unclouded majesty throuc^h the deep blue sky, studded with myriads of bun ing stars. The cool night air restored him completely to him- self. IJoldaig the still sleeping infant closer in his arms, he hurried on, until he stood on the sloping bank command- ing a view (.>f tlie bay. The tide was rising. The waves came splashing in on the beach — the white foam gleaming coldly brilliant in the moonlight. The waters beyond looked cold, and sluggish, and dark — moaning in a strange, dreary way as they swept over the rocks. How could he commit the slumbering infant to these merciless waves ? Depraved and guilty as he was, he hesitated. It lay so confidingly in his arms, slumbering so sweetly, that his heart smote him. Yet it must be done. He descended carefully to the beach, and laying his living bundle on the snowy sands, stood like Hagar, « distance off, to see it die. In less than ten minutes, he knew, the waves would have washed it far away. As he stood, with set teeth and folded arms, the merry jingle of approaching uleigh -bells broke upon his startled ear. They were evidently approaching the place where ne stood. Moved by a sudden impulse of terror, he turned and fled from the spot. Guilt is ever cowardl) . He sped on, scarcely know- ing whither he went, until in his blind haste he ran against a watchman. The unexpected shock sent both rolling oTcr in Um pnow, which considerably cooled th© fever in Doctor v.r I (•-:•' J. .!*. i4 THE ASTROLOGEML Wiseman's blood. The indignant "guardian of niglit," with an exclamation which wouldn't look wcil in print; laid hold of the doctor's cullar. But there was vigor in Doctor Wiseman's dwarfed body, and strengtl>iQ his long, lean arms ; and with a violent effort he wrenched himself free from the policeman's tenacious grasp, and fled. *' Charley" started in pursuit, and seeing he wouid soon be overtaken, the doctor suddenly darted into the high, dark portico of an imposing-looking house, and soon had the satisfaction of beholding the angry watchman tear past like a comet, in full pursuit. CHAPTER IIL THE ASTROLOGSIL Ke fed on poisons, and they had no power, But were a kind of nutriment ; he lived Through that which had been death to manj men. To him the book of night was opened wide, And voices from the deep abyss revealed A marvel and a secret." — Byron. i ' i !■ jAVING assured himself that all danger wak past, Doctor Wiseman v/as about to start from the building, when a sudden moonbeam fell on the polished door-plate, and he started back to see the name it revealed. "The astrologer, Ali Hamed !" he exclaimed. **Now what foul fiend has driven me to his accursed den to night ? 'Tis said he can read the future ; and surely no man ever needed to know it more than I. Can it be that :;i m THE AUTROLOGSM, >5 of night," il in print; 18 vigor in in his long, wrenched grasp, and he would arted into ng house, the angry it. en. inger wai start from beam fell rted back L ''Now d den to lurel/ no it b^ thai the hand of destiny has driven me here, to ihow me what is yet to conic. Well, it is useless going home or at tempting to sleep lo-night ; so, Ali ilunied, I sliall try what your maijicul blnck iirt can do for inc." He rang the bell siiarply, but nicjwient after moment [Kissed, and no one came. I^(jsii g all patience, he again rang a deafening peal, which echoed and re-echoed ihrcjugh the house. Presently the sound of footsteps clattering down stairs fctruck his ear, and iii a moment more the d(jor was cau- tiously opened, and a dark, swarthy face protruded tlirough the opening. Seeing but one, he stood aside to b'.iOW him to enter, and then securely locked and bolted the door. " The astrologer, Ali Hamed, resides here ?" said the doctor. Accustomed to visitors at all hours of the day and night, the man betrayed no surprise at the unreasou«ble time he had taken to inquire, but answered quietly in the affirmative. " Can 1 see him ?" '*I think so; step in here one moment, and I wil see." He ushered Dr. Wiseman into a small and plainly furnished parlor, while he again went up stairs. In a few moments he reappeared, and, bidding his visitor fol- low him, led the way up the long staircase through a spacious suite of apartments, and finally into a long, dark room, where the astrologer usually received visi- tors. The doctor glanced around with intense curiosity not unmingled with awe. The floor wfis painted black, and the walls were hung with dark tapestry, cov- ered with :dl manner of cabalistic figures. Skulls, crucibles, magic mirrors, tame serpents, vipers, and all 7/ n t6 THE ASTROLOGER, \ manner of hideous things were scattered piofutel| around. While the doctor still stood contemplating the strange things around him, the door opened and the astrologer himself entered. He was an imposing-looking person- age, tall and majestic, with grave, Asiatic features, and arrayed with Eastern magnificence. He bent his head with grave dignity in return to the doctor's profound bow, and stood for a few moments silently regarding him. " You would know the future?" said the astrologer, at length, in his slow, impressive voice. " Such is my business here to-night." " You would have your horoscope cast, probablj ?*' " Yes." " Then give me the day and hour of your birth, and return to-morrow morning." " No, I cannot wait until then ; I must know all to- night." The astrologer bowed, and after many tedious pre- liminaries, directed the doctor to quit the room until he should send for him. Dr. Wiseman then entered one of t.he long suite of apartments through which he had passed, and seated himself in a state of feverish anxiety to hear the result. Some time elapsed ere the swarthy individual who had admitted him presented himself at the door and announced that the astrologer was ready to :cv'eive him. Dr. Wiseman found Ali Hamed standing beside a smoking caldron, with his crcss-bon«s, and lizards, and mystic figures around him, awaiting his entrance. Not much given to credulity, the doctor determined to test his skill before placing implicit belief in his pre- dictions ; and therefore, bluntly announcing his skepti* cism, he demanded to know something ol the past. % M. '''k THE ASTROLC GEM. profuiei| the strango J astrologer ing person- ;atures, and It his head s profound ' regarding astrologer, obably ?" r birth, and :now all to- sdious prc- >m until he ered one of ch he had ish anxiety he swarthy himself at as ready to g beside a izards, and nee. determined in his prc- his skepti* I past. " You are a widower, with one child," said the astrolo- ger, calmly. The doctor bowed assent. " Vou are not rich, but avaricious ; there is nothing TG'i would not do for money. You are liked by none ; hv nature you are treaclierous, cunning, and unscrupu- lous ; your handr. are dyed, and your heart is black with crime ; you '''' "Enough!" interrupted the doctor, turning as pale as his saffron visage would permit; "no more of the past. What has th« future in store for me?" " A life of disgrace, and death on the scaffold!" A suppressed cry of horror burst from the white lips of the doctor, who reeled as if struck by some sudden blow. " To-night," continued the astrologer, unheeding the interruption, '''■ a chUd has been born whose destiny shall bt united with yours through life; some strange, mystic tie will bind you together for a time. But the hand of this child will yet bring your head to the halter." He paused. Dr. Wiseman stood stiff, rooted to the ground with horror. " Such is your future ; you may go," said the Egyp- tian, waving his hand. With his blood freezing in his veins, with hands trembling and lips palsied with horror, he quitted the house. An hour had scarcely passed since his entrance ; but that hour seemed to have added ten years to his age. He felt not the cold, keen air as he slowly moved along, every sense paralyzed by the appalling prediction he had just heard. " Die on the scaffold !" His crime deserved it. But the bare thought made liis blood run cold. And through a child born that nigiit lie was to perish ! Was u the child of Esther Oianmore? Oil, absurd ! it had been swept I 'ii' .V, '' ' ''^ '• >& M .mu »B THE ASTROLOGER. ■■'% * ■ \ It i i i J . 1 1 ; 1 1 ; i 1 1 I . i . ■ ill far aviray by the waves long ere this. Whose, then, could it be ? There were more children born this Christ- mas Eve than that one ; but how could any one ever know what he had done? No one knew of it liut Mrs. Oranmore ; and he well knew she would never tell. He plunged blindly onward through the heaps o( drifted snow, heeding not, caring not, whither his steps wended. Once or twice he met a watchman going his rounds, and he shrank away like the guilty thing that he was, dreading lest the word ''mufder" should be stampea on his brow. He thought with cowardly terror of the coming day, when every eye, he fancied, would turn upon him with a look of suspicion. Involuntarily he wandered to the sea-shore, and stood on the bank where he had been one nour before. The waves were dashing now almost to his feet ; no trace of any living thing was to be seen around. '* It has perished, then !" he exclaimed, with a feeling of intense relief. " I knew it ! I knew it ! //, then, is not the child which is to cause my death. But, pshaw I why do I credit all that soi-disant prophet told me ! Ye. he spoke so truly of the past, I cannot avoid believing him. Perish on the scaffold I Heavens ! if I felt sure of it, I would go mad. Ha ! what is that? Can it be the ghastly white face of a child ?" He leaned over and bent down to see, but nothing met his eye save the white caps of the waves. " Fool that I am !" he exclaimed, turning away im« patiently. " Well might stony Madam Oranmore deeir me a coward did she see me now. I will hasten back ta her, and report the success of my mission." He turned away, and strode in the direction of her house as fast as he could walk over the frozen ground, quite unconscious of what was at that same moment passing in another quarter of the city on that samo eventful night. "4 \ ' MAMJtY OMAJSTMOAX hose, then, this Christ- one ever but Mrs. ;r tell. heaps of r his stepa going his ing that he be stampea ror of the rould turn shore, and )ur before, is feet ; no id. h a feeling (ty then, is ut, pshaw ! me ! Ye. , believing I felt sure Can it be It nothing away izn< aore deeir 5U back 18 on of her n ground, B moment that samo CHAPTER IV. BARRY ORANMORS. " Pray for the dead- Why for the dead, who are at rest ? Pray for the living, in whose breast The struggle between right and wr«af Is raging, terrible and strong." — LoNontZxsw T was a luxuriously furnished apartment. A :hick, soft carpet, where blue violets peeped from glowing green leaves so naturally that one involuntarily stooped to cull them, cover- ed the floor. Rare old paintings adorned the wall, and the cornices were fretted with gold. The heavy crimson curtains vshut out the sound of the wintry vvind, and a glowing coal lire shed a living, radiant glow over everything around. The air was redolent of intoxicating perfume, breathing of summer and sunshine. On the marble-topped center-table stood bottles and glasses, a cigar-case, a smoking-cap, and a pair of elegant, silver- mounted pistols. It was evidently a gentleman's room, judging by the disorder. A beautiful marble Flora stood in one corner, arrayed in a gaudy dressing-gown, and opposite stood a dainty little Peri adorned with a beaver hat. Jupiter himself was there, with a violin sur,- pended gracefully around his neck, and Cupid was lean- ing against the wall, ncels uppermost, with bent bow, e7'd?T\tly taking deliberate aitn at the flies on the ceiling. Among the many exquisite paintings hanging on the wall, there was one of surpassing beauty ; it represented a bleak hill-side, with a flock of sheep grazing on the ■canty herbage, a lowering, troubled sky above * andoof ,.\. ■*i M' i.i- fc ■in ■''••t'l I. i' ^'i' iC. m »■ .'i I < .] 9« ^W^i? Y ORANMORE. could almost see the fitful gusts of wind sighicg ovei the gray hill-tops. Standing erect was a )'oung girl — a mere child in years — her long golden hair streaming wildly in the breeze, her straw hat sv/inging in her hand, her fair, bright face and large blue eyes raised with niingled shyness and sauciness to a horseman bendin_j '.?■ u her, as if speaking. His fiery steed seemed pawin:^ 'viih impatience; but his rider held him with a firm .^^*»ad. He was a tall, slight youth, with raven black hair and eyes, and a dark, handsome face. There was a wild look about the dark horseman and darker steed, remind- ing one of the Black Horseman of the Hartz Mountains. Underneath was written, in a dashing masculine hand, " The first meeting." There was something strikingly; vividly life-like in the whole scene ; even the characters — the slender girl, with her pretty, piquant face, and the handsome, graceful rider — were more like living beings than creations of fancy. And — yes, standing by the fire, his arm resting on the mantel, his eyes fixed on the hearth, stood the orig- inal of the picture. The same tall, superb form ; the same clear olive complexion ; the same curling locks of jet, and black eyes of fire ; the same firm, proud mouth shaded by a thick black mustache — there he stood, his eyes riveted on the glowing coals, his brow knit as though in deep and painful thought. Now and then the muscles of his face would twitch, and his white hands involuntarily clench at some passing thought. At intervals the noise of doors shutting and opening r^'ould reach his ear, and he would start as though he had received a galvanic shock, and listen for a moment intently. Nothing could be heard but the crackling of the fire it. such times, and again he would relapse into gloomy musing. 'What a fool I have been !" he exclaimed^ at length BARRY OSANMORR. i> ghicig ovei uag girl— a ■ streaming in her hand, raised with m benciiii »■ led pawin:^ vith a firm 1 black hair was a wild ed, remind- Mountains. Liline hand, strikingly; haracters — ice, and the nng beings resting on >d the orig- form ; the 3g locks of oud mouth 5 stood, his >w knit as ad then the hite hands id opening though he a moment rackling of elapse into rAt lenirth between his clcncfied locth as he shook back wi'.b fierc? impatience his globsy liair, ** tu burden myseJf wi'.n thi3 girl ! Dolt, idiot iiiat I was, tu allow myself to be be witched by her blue eyes and yellow hair ! What deaiou could have possessed rae to make her my wife ? M^ wife ! Just fancy me presenting that little blushing, shrinking Galway girl as ray wife to my lady mother, or to that princess of coquettes, Lizzie Erliston ! I wi:h to heaven I had blown my braius cut instead of putlij.^ my head into such a confoundf,d noose — making myseil the laughing-stock of all my gt-Jlant friends and lady acquaintances ! No, by heav'en ! they shall never laugii at Barry O ran more. Eveleen shall be sent back to her friends. They will be glad enough to get her on any terms ; and she will soon forget me, and be happy tend- ing her sheep once more. And yet — and yet — pooi Eveleen !" he said, suddenly, pausing before the picture, while his dark eyes filled with a softer light, and his voice assumed a gentler tone ; " she loves me so well yet — far more than I do her. I hardly like the thought of sending her away ; but it cannot be helped. My mother's purse is running low, I fear ; Erliston's coffers a 'St replenish it. Yes, \.\i^c^ is no help for it ; Eveleen It j.st go, and I must marry lit, e Lizzie. Poor child; she left home, and friends, and all for me ; and it docs seem a villainous act in me to desert her for another But go she must ; there is no alternative." He was walking up and down in his intense excrtc ment — sometimes pausipg suddenly for a few moments, and then walking on faster than before. Thus half aa iiour passed, during which he seemed to have formed some determination ; for his mouth grew stern, and his Clear eyes cold and calm, as he once more leaned against the mantel, and fell into thought. Presently the door opened and a woman entered. She 'AM s« BARRY ORANMORM. was a stout, corpulent person, with coarse, bloated face, and small, bleared eyes. As she entered, she cast an affectionate glance toward the brandy bottle on the table — a glance w'lich said plainly she would have no objec- lion to tryinj its quality. She was arrayed for the street, witli a large cloak enveloping her ample person, and a warm quilted hood tied over her substantial double chin. " Well, sir, I'll be niovin', I reckon," said the woman, adjusting her cloak. " The young lady's doing very nicely, and the baby's sleeping like an angel. So they'll get along very well to-night without me." The young man started at the sound of her Toice, and, looking up, said carelessly : ** Oh, it's you, is it ? Are you for leaving T* " Yes, sir ; it's time I was home and to bed. I ain't used to bein' up late nights now — don't agree with my constitution ; it's sorter delicate. Shouldn't wonder il I was fallin' into a decline." The quizzical dark eyes of the young man surveyed the rotund person before him, and in spite of himself he burst out laughing. "Well, now, if you was in a decline yourself, you'd laugh t'other side of your mouth, I reckon," said the of- fended matron. " S'pose you think it's very funny laugh- i:ag at a poor, lone 'oman, -without chick nor child. But I can tell you " " Ten thousand pardons, madam, for my offense," he Luterrupted, courteously, though there was still a wicked twinkle in his eye. " Pray sit down for a moment ; 1 have something to say to you." " Well, now, it don't seem exactly right to sit here with you at this hour of the night. Howsomever, I will, to oblige you," and the worthy dame placed her ample frame in a cushioned elbow-chair. BARRY O RAN MORS, II i>loRted face, she cast an on the table ire no objec- Td for the iplc person, substantial the woman, doing very , So they'll \i her T«ice, bed. I ain't ee with my t wonder ii in surveyed \ himself he irself, you'd said the of- unny laugh- child. But oflfense," he ill a wicked moment ; 1 to sit here levcr, I will, her ample " Perhaps this argument may aid -r. overcoming your scruples," said the young man, filling her a glass cf wiae, and throwing himself on a lounge ; " and now to business. You are a widow ?" " Yes, sir. My blessed husband died a martyr to his country — died in the discharge of his duty. He was a '.nistom-house officer, find felt it his duty always to exam* ine liquors betore destroying them. Well, one day he took too much, caught the devil-rum tremendous, and left me a disconsolate widdcr. The coroner of the jury set onto him, and " " There, there ! never mind particulars. You hay* no children ?" " No," said the old woman stiffly, rather offended by his unceremonious interruption. " If you were well paid, you would have no objection to taking one and bringing it up as your own ?" said the young man, speaking quietly, though there was a look of restless anxiety in his fine eyes. " Well, no ; I'd have no objection, if " and here she slapped her pocket expressively, by way of finishing the sentence. " Money shall be no object ; but remember, the world must think it is your own — / am never to be troubled about it more." " All right — I understand," said the nurse, nodding her head sagely. " S'pose it's the little one in there ?" " It is. Can you take it away now V* "To-night?" /* Yes." " But laws ! ain't it too cold and stormy. Better wait till to-piorrow." " No," was the quick and peremptory answer. " To- night, now, within this very hour, it must be removed ; and I am never to hear of it more.' It 4 ■. m •'Ml •I' to: fn- f,r„ ii,. 'J»fl I I I : I 1 'I' I'l ("i; ':['. !! S4 BAHRY O RAN MORE. « And the poor young lady ? Seems sorter hard, now don't it?" she'll take on wonderfully, I'm feured." A spasm of pain passed orer his handsorjc face, and for a moment he was silent. Then, looking up, he said, with brief sternness : " It cannot be helped. You must go without dis turbing her, and 1 will break the news to her myself. Here is my purse for the present. What is your ad- dress ?" The woman gave it. " Very well, you shall hear from me regularly ; but should we ever meet again, in the street or elsewhere, you are not to know me, and you must forget all that has transpired to-night." ** Hum !" said the fat widow, doubtfully. " And now you had better depart. The storm has al- most ceased, and the night is passing away. Is Ev — if my wife awake ?" "No ; I left her sleeping." " So much the better. You can take U with you with out disturbing her. Go." The buxom widow arose and quitted the room. Oran more lay on a lounge, rigidly motionless, his face hiddev by iiis hand. A fierce storm was raging in his Lreast— "the struggle between right and wrong." Pride and ambition struggled wl;:h love and remorse, but the fear of the world conquered : and when the old woman re- entered, bearing a sleeping infant in her arms, he look^^c up as composedly as herself. "Pretty little dear," said the widow, wrapping tbf child in a thick woolen shawl, " how nicely she sleeps • Very image of her it other, and she's the beautifuiest girl I ever saw in my life I gave her some paregoric to make her sleep till I go home. Well, good-night, sir Our businecs is over." I '^n RARRY ORANMORS. 35 r nard, now red." le face, and up, he said, rithout dis her myself. is your ad- ularly ; but ewhere, you ill that has torm has al- . IiEv— ii h you with oom. Oraa face hiddev lis Lreast — Pride and Dut the fear woman re s, he look^^c rapping the she sleeps * beautiful est ; paregoric d-night, sir "Yes, good-night. Remember the secret \ forjjei what has transpired to-night, and your fortune is made You will care for // "—and he pointed to the child — " as though it were your own." " Be sure I will, dear little duck. Who could help liking such a sweet, pretty uarling ? I s'pose you'll come io see it sometimes, sir ?" " No. Vou can send me word of its welfare cow and then. Go, madam, go." The widow turned to leave the room, and, unobserved by the young man, who had once more thrown himself 0;.i ^vs face on the sofa, she seized a well-filled brandy- flask and concealed it beneath her shawl. Quitting the house, she walked as rapidly as her bulksome proportions would permit over the snowy ground. The road leading to her hom.e lay in the direc- tion of the sea-shore ; and, as she reached the beach, she was thoroughly chilled by the cold, in spite of her warm wrappings. " It's as cold as the Arctic Ocean, and I've hecrd say that's the coldest country in the world. A drop of com- fort won't come amiss just now. Lucky I thought on'l. This little monkey's as sound as a top. It's my 'pinion that young gent's no better than he ought to be, to treat such a lovely young lady in this fashion. Well, it's no business of mine, so's I'm well paid. Lor ! I hope 1 hain't gin it too much paregoric ; wouldn't for anything 'twould die. S'pose I'd get no more tie then. That's prime," she added, placing the flask to her lips and drain- ing a long draught. As the powerful fumes of the brandy arose to hei head, the worthy lady's senses became rather confused f tnd, falling rather than sitting on the bank the child, muffled like a mummy in its plaid, roiled from her arms Into a snow-wreath. At the same moment the loud ring- 'ii!i ^4n It 'J'. r%^ >' ,1 1, ■■Il ,i ! .4' I i\n 'i'tiii'K -;.l9!i '$• 'BARRY OR AN MORS, Ing of bells and the cry of " Fire ! fire !" fell Jp:: *#f can It roused her ; and, in the excitement of lU :io» ment forgcttini; her litile charge, she sprang up ii rcll as she could, and, by u strange fascination, was i#)'>a in- voluntarily drawn away to mingle with the crowii, who were hurrying in the direction of her abode. Scarcely five miuiaes before. Dr. Wiseman had (|jiit ted that very spot : and there, within a few yards ol each other, the two unconscious infants lay, little kncrring how singularly their future lives were to be united — little dreaming how fatal an influence one of them was yet to wield oyer him. Some time after, when the flames were extinguished and the crowd had quitted the streets for their beds — when the unb'-oken silence of coming morning had fallen over the city — the widow returned to seek for her child. But she sought in vain ; the rising tide had swept over the bank, and was again retreating sullenly to the sea. Sobered by terror and remorse, the wretched woman trod up and down the dreary, deserted snowy beach until morning broke ; but she sought and searched lo vain. The child was gone. \ -1 1 MOUNT SUNuET 37 ip : r Iff lU :io- > «i yell u yya in* wil, who CHAPTER V. MOUNT SUNSET HALU dfj fitted s ot each kncrring sd — little is yet to Dguishcd r beds — lad fallen ;r child, id swept ily to the I woman 7y beach irched In A joUj place, 'twas said» in days of old.** — WoUMnro&Ta p^'Sl n E jingle of the approaching^ sleigh-be Ih, '"nuH wliichhad fris:jhtened Dr. Wiseman from tht: tMi vi.u^»ir...:« |^j(..|^(^i^^ i^^fi been unheard by the drunker: nurse ; but ten minutes after she had left, a sleigh came slowly along the narrow, slipperjf path. It contained but two persons. One was an elderly woman, wrapped and muffled in furs. A round, rosy, cheery face beamed out from a black velvet bonnet, and two small, twinkling, merry gray eyes, lit up the pleas- antest countenance in the world. Her companion, who sat in the driver's seat, was a tall, jolly-looking darkey, with a pair of huge, rolling eyes, looking like a couple of snow-drifts in a black ground. A towering fur cap ornamented the place where the "* wool ought to grow," and was the only por- tion of this son of darkness which could be discovered for hisB voluminous wrappings. The path was wet, slippery, and dangerous in the ex: treme. The horses were restive, and a singl«,.ialse step would have ovcjrturned them into the water. " Missus Scour, if you please, missus, you'd better git out/' vsaid the negro, reining in the horses, in evident alarm ; " this yer's the wussest road I'se ever trabeled. iliese wishious brutes '11 spili me and you, api the sleigh, and then the Lor oaly knows what'U ever become of us." S • * i ■ft * Id ! :- -la: "ii MOUNT SUNSET ffALL. ill '■• 4'' 'ii. '*' I .', ; i'ri'.'i ^ 'I ** Do yoti think there's any danger, Jupiter ?" said Mrs. Gower (for such was the name her sable attendant had transformed into Scour), in a voice of alarm. *'This road's sort o' 'spicious anyhow," replied 'iipiter. " I'd 'vise you. Missus Scour, mum, to get out .iiud walk till we is past this yer beach. 'Sides the snow, '.his yer funnel ly beach is full o* holes, an' if we gol '.ipsot inter one of 'em, ole marse might whistle for you and me, and the sleigh arter that !" With much difficulty, and with any amount of whoa- ing, Jupiter managed to stop the sleigh, and assisted stout Mrs. Gower to alight. This was no easy job, fo; that worthy lady was rather unwieldy, and panted like a stranded porpoise, as she slowly plunged through the wet snow-drifts. Suddenly, above the jingling sleigh-bells, the wail of an infant met her ear. She paused in amazement, and looked around. Again she heard it — this time seeming- ly at her feet. She looked down and beheld a small, dark bundle, lying amid the deep snow. Once more the piteous cry met her ear, and stooping down, she raised the little dark object in her arms. Unfolding the shawl, she beheld the infant whose cries had first arrested her ear. "Good heavens! a baby exposed to this weather — left here to perish !" exclaimed good Mrs. Gower, in hor- ror. "Poor little thing, it's half frozen. Who could have done so unnatural a deed ?" "Laws! Missus Scour, what ye g3t dar ?" inquired Jupiter. " A baby, Jupe ! A poor Kttle helpless infant whom some unnatural wretrh has left here to die !" exclaimed Mrs. Gower, with rrcre indignation than she had ever before felt in her life. m MOUNT SUNSET HALL, iter?" said attendant |rm. " replied to get out tiie snow. if vvc got le for you of wlioa- d assisted isy job, for anted like irough the the wail of sment, and e seeming, d a small, d stooping irms. ant whose weather — ?er, in lior- ITho could " inquired ant whom exclaimed \ had evei «* Good Lor ! so 'tis What vou gwine to do w Id it. Missus Scour, mum ?" "Do with it?" said Mrs. Gower, looking at him in surprise. " Why, take it with me, of course. You wouldn't have mc leave the poor infant here to perish, would you ?" *' 'Deed, Missus Scour, I wouldn't bring it 'long cf I was you. Jcs' 'llect how tarin' mad ole marse 'H be 'bo it it. Don't never want to see no babies roun'. Desd, honey, you'd better take my 'vice an' leave it whar it was," said Jupiter. " What? Leave it here to die. I'm ashamed of you, Jupiter," said the old lady, rebukingly. " But Lor ! Missus Scour ! ole marse '11 trow it out de winder fust thing. Shouldn't be s'prised, nudder, e( he'd woUop me lor bringing it. Jes' 'fleet upon it. Missus Scour, nobody can't put no 'pendence onto him, deforsooken ole sinner. Trowed his 'fernal ole stick at lue, t'other day, and like to knock my brains out, jes' for nothin' at all. 'Deed, honey, I wouldn't try sich a 'sper- riment, no how." " Now, Jupiter, you needn't say another word. My mind's made up, and I'm going to keep this child, let *ole marse' rage as he will. I'm just as sure as I can be, that *lie Lord sent it to me, to-night, as a Christmas gift, in place of my poor, dear Aurora, that he took to heaven," said good Mrs. Gower, folding the wailing infant closer still to herwarm, motherly bosom. " Sartln, missus, in course you knows best, but et you'd only 'fleet. 'Pears to me, ole marse '11 tar roun woiser dan ever, wlien he sees it, and discharge you in you 'sponsible ole age o' life 'count of it." •' And if he does discharge me, Jupiter, after twenty years' service, I have enough to support myself and this little one to the end of my life, thank the Lord 1" sai4 • u H if ' '■A fi 4« MOUNT SUNSET HALL. 4. . 'fl i'li , 1 1 til ^ if:' [ Mi- !' i ii: ; I 1 ' f I M/s. Gower, her honest, ruddy face all aglow with get* crous enthusiasm. "Well, I s'pose 'taint no sorter use talking," said J'ipiter, with a sigh, as he gathered up the reins ; "but sf anything happens, jes 'member I 'vised you of it 'fore- "land. Hero we is on de road now, so you'd better gei :.n ef you's agoin' to take de little 'un wid you." With considerable squeezing, and much panting, and some groaning, good Mrs. Gower was assisted into the sleigh, and muffled up in the buffalo robes. Wrapping the child in her warm, fur-lined mantle, to protect it from the chill night air, they sped merrily along over the hard, frozen ground. Christmas morning dawned bright, sunshiny, and warm. The occupants of the sleigh had long since left the city behind them, and were now driving along the more open country. The keen, frosty air deepened the rosy glow on Mrs. Gower's good-humored face. Warm- ly protected from the cold, the baby lay sleeping sweetly in her arms, and even Jupiter's sable face relaxed into a grin as he whistled " Coal Black Rose." The sun was about three hours high when they drew up before a solitary inn. And here Jupiter assisted Mrs. Gower into the house, while he himself looked after his horses. Mrs. Gower was shown by the hostess into the par- lor, where a huge wood-fire roared up the wide chim- ney. Removing the large shawl that enveloped it, Mrs. Gower turned for the first time to examine her prize It did not dider much from other babies, save in be- tng the tiniest little creature that ever was seen ; with imall, 'retty features, and an unusual profusion of brown nair. As it awoke, it disclosed a pair of large blue eyes — rather vacant-looking, it must be confessed — ftsd immediately set up a most vigorous squoilimg. Small mi H'M ■ If with get • ng," said ins ; "but of it 'fore- better gei 1." ating, and into the mantle, to ;d merrily hiny, and since left along the pened the e. Warm- ig sweetly ced into a hey drew listed Mrs. . after his D the par- ide chim- d it, Mrs. ler prize ve in be- ien ; with fusion of ■ of large nfessed — ig. Small MOUNT SUNSET HALS, ii B8 it was, it evidently possessed lungs that wcuid aot have disgraced a newsboy, and seemed bent upon fully exercising them ; for in spite of Mrs. Gower's cooing and kissiiag, it cried and screamed "and would not be comforted." " Poor little dear, it's so hungry," said the good old lady, rocking it gently. " What a pretty little darling it is. I'm sure it looks like little Aurora !" " What is the matter with baby ?" inquired the hostess, at this moment entering. " It's hungry, poor thing. Bring in some warm milk, please/' replied Mrs. Govver. The milk was brought, and baby, like a sensible child, as it doubtless was, did ample justice to it. Then rolling it up in the shawl, Mrs. Gower placed it in the rocking-chair, and left it to its own reflections, while she sat down to a comfortable breakfast of fragrant coffee, hot rolls, and fried ham. When breakfast was over Jupiter brought round the horses and sleigh, and Mrs. Gower entered, holding her prize, and they drove off. It was noon when they reactied the end of their long journey, and entered the little village of St. Mark's. Sloping upward from the bay on one side, and encircled by a dense primeval forest on the other, the village stood. St. Mark's was a great place in the eyes of its inhabitants, and considered by them the only spot on the globe fit for rational beings to live in. It was rather an unpretending-looking place, though, to strangers, who sometimes came from the city to spend the not summer months there, in preference to any fashionable watering- place, k contained a church, a school-house, a iecture- roora, a post-office, and an inn. b.^t the principal building, and pride of the village, was Mo*mt Sunset Hall. It stood apon a sloping emi- '■H Hi v*''': 1 ''v*;i w 'I M 42 MOUNT SC/A'S£T HALJU li: nence, whi<:h the villagers dignified with the title of hi.l, but which in reality was no such thing. The hall itself was <* large, quaint, old mansion of gray stone, built in the Elizabethan style, with high turrets, peaked gables, and lonjf, high windows. It was finely situated, com- manding on one side a view of the entire village and the bay, and on the other the dark pine forest and far-spread ing hills beyond. A carriage-path wound up toward the front, through an avenue of magnificent horse chest- nuts, now bare and leafless. A wide porch, on which the sun seemed always shining, led into a long, high hall, flankea on each side by doors, opening into the separate apartments. A wide staircase of dark polished oak led to the upper chambers of the old mansion. The owner of Sunset Hall was Squire Erlistoa, the one great man of the village, the supreme autocrat of St. Mark's. The squire was a rough, gruflf, choleric old bear, before whom children and poultry and other infe- rior animals quaked in terror. He had been once given to high living and riotous excesses, and Sunset Hall had then been a place of drunkenness and debauchery. But these excssses at last brought on a dangerous disease, and for a long time his life v,7as despaired of ; then the squire awoke to a sense of his situation, took a " pious g '•eak " — as he called it himself — and registered a vow, that if it pleased Providence not to deprive the world in general, and St. Marks in particular, of so valuable an ornament as himself, he would eschew all his evil deeds £33 d meditate seriously on his latter end. Whether his prayer Wcts heard or not I cannot undertake to say ; but certain it is the squire recovered ; and, casting over in his mind the ways and means by which he could best do penE'.nce for his past sins, he resolved to go through a course of Solomon's Proverbs, and — get married. Deem- ing it best to make the greatest sacrifice first, he got tie of hi. 1, hall itsell e, built in ;d gables, ted, corn- ice and the ar-spread p toward rse chest- on which high hall. ! separate i oak led iston, the :rat of St. ►leric old >ther infe- nee given Hall had ery. But s disease, then the a "pious ed a vow, world in luable an 5vil deeds ether his say ; but ; over in 1 best do birough a 1. Deem- t, he got MOV NT SUNSET HALL, 41 mutied ; anJ, after the honeymoon was past, surer iscd his wife one day by taking down the huge family Bible left him by his father, and reading the first chapter. This he continued for a week — yawning fearfully all :he time; but after tliat he resolved to make his wife re'id rhem aloud to him, and thereby save him the trouble. " For," said the squire sagely, " what's the use of hav- ing a wife il she can't make herself useful. ' A goc J wiie's a cr(jwn to her husband,' as Solomon says." So Mrs. Erliston was commanded each morning to read one of the chapters by way of morning prayers. The squire would stretch himself on a lounge, light a ...igar, lay his head on her lap, and prepare to listen. But before the conclusion of the third verse Squire Erliston and his good resolutions would be as sound as one of the Seven Sleepers. When his meek little wife would hint at this, her worthy liege lord v.ould tly into a passion, and indig- nantly deny the assertion He asleep, indeed ! Prepos- terous ! — he had heard every word ! And, in proof of it, he vociferated every text he could remember, and in- sisted upon making Solomon the author of them all. This habit he had retained through life — often to the great amusement of his friends — setting the most absurd phrases down to the charge of the Wise Monarch. His wife died, leaving him with two daughters ; the fate of the eldest, Esther, is already known to the reader. Up the carriage road, in front, the sleigh containing our travelers drove. Good Mrs. Gower — vho for many years had been Squire Erliston's housekeeper — alighted, and, passir g through the long hall, entered a cheerful- looking apartment known as the " housekeeper's room. Seating herself in an elbow-chair to recover her breath, Mrs. Gower laid the baby in her bed, and rang ' '1^'* \^'i m ■ 5 V |.,:'fi > ' -ft i ,.rl fJ %im ^1* \ '^M, m il iiij 4 t I: ir ■ r 11 )!!> 1^ H , 'iH iri 'III] ■ ' ' ) 44 JiOCTJVT SUNSET HAUL the belL The summons was answered by a iidj Httlt darkey, who rushed in all of a flutter. " Laws ! Missus Scour, I's' 'stonished, I is ! Whar*f de young 'un ! Jupe say you fotch one from the city.** " So I did ; there it is on the bed." "Sakes alive, ain't it a mite of a critter! Gemini i what'U old murse say? Can't abide babies no howl 'spect he neber was a baby hisself !" *' Totty, you mustn't speak that way of your master Remember, it's not respectful," said Mrs. Gowcr, re- bukingly. "Oh, I'll 'member of it — 'specially when I's near him, and he's got a stick in his hand," said Totty, turning again to the baby, and eying it as one might some natu- ral curiosity. *' Good Lor ! ain't it a funny little critter ? What's its name. Miss Scour?" "I intend calling it Aurora, after my poor little daughter," replied Mrs. Gower, tears filling her eyes. '^Roarer! Laws! ain't it funny? Heigh! dar's de bell. 'Spect it's for me," said Totty, running off. In a few inomenis she reappeared ; and, shoving her curly head and ebony phiz through the door, announced in pompous tones, " dat marse wanted de honor ob a few moments' private specification wid Missus Scour in de parlor." " Very well, Totty ; stay in here and *nind the baby w/atil I come back," said Mrs. Gower, :ismg to obey. Totty, nothing loth, seated herself by the bed and re- sumed the scrutiny of the baby. Whether that young lady remarked the impertinen\ stare of thedarkey ornot, it would be hard to say ; for, hpving bent her whole heart and soul on the desperate and rather cs nnibal-like task of devouring her own little fists, she treated Totty with silent contempt. Meantime^ Mrs. Gower, with a iook of ftrm de(«r- ,1 MOUNT SUNSET HALL, Whar't e city.** .Tcmini < io how ! ' master >wcr, re- lear him, turning me natu- e critter ? or little • eyes, dar's de 1 ring her aounced or ob a Scour in he baby obey, i and re- t young y or not, r whole ibal-like ;d Totty D de(tr- mination, but with a heart which, it must be cwned, throbbed fas':er than usual, approached the room wherein sat the lord and master of Sunset Hall. A gruff voice shouted : " Come in !" in reply to her " tapping at the chamber-door ;" and good Mrs. Gower, in fear and trembling, entered the awful presence. In a large easy-chair in the middle of the floor — his feet supported by a high ottoman — reclined Squire Erliston. He was evidently about fifty years of age, below the middle size, stout and squarely built, and of ponderous proportions. His countenance was fat, purple, and bloated, as if from high living and strong drink ; and his short, thick, bull-like neck could not fail to bring before the mind of the beholder most unpleas- ant ideas of apoplexy. His little, round, popping eyes seemed in danger of starting from their sockets ; while the firm compression of his square mouth betokened an unusual degree of obstinacy. " Good-morning, Mrs. Gower. Fine day, this ! Got home, I see. Shut the door ! — shut the door ! — draughts always bring on the gout ; so beware of 'em. Don't run into danger, or you'll perish in it, as Solomon says. There ! sit down, sit down, sit down !" Repeating this request a very unnecessary number of times — for worthy Mrs. Gower had immediately taken a seat oc entering — Squire Erliston adjusted his spectacles carefully on the bridge of his nose, and glanced severely at his housekeeper over the top of them. That good lady sat with her eyes fixed upon the carpet — ^her hands folded demurely in her lap— the very personificmtion oK mingled dignity and good-nature. ** Hem ! madam," began the squire. " Yes, sir," replied Mrs. Gower, meekly. ^ Jupc tells me — that is, he told me — I vean, mm'i ''I l-U «^n 4 46 MOUNT SUNS£T HALJL I'lii ^i', 'i I I \^. the short and long of it is, you've brought a )aby hemt with you — eh ?" " Yes, sir," replied the housekeeper. "And how dare you, ma'am — how dare you bring such a thing here ?" roared the squire, in a rage. ^ Don't you know I detest the whole persuasion under twelve years of age ? Yes, ma'am ! you know it ; and yet yoi went and brought one here. * The way of the trans- gressor is hard,' as Solomon says ; and I'll make it con fuundedly hard for you if you don't pitch the squalling brat this minute out of the window ! D'ye hear that ?" " Yes, sir," replied Mrs. Gower, quietly. ' And why the deuce don't you go and do it, then— • eh?" " Because, Squire Erliston, I am resolved to keep the child," said Mrs. Gower, firmly. " What ! what! what !" exclaimed the squire, speech- less with mingled rage and astonishment at the auda- cious reply. " Yes, sir," reiterated Mrs. Gower, resolutely. " I con- sider that child sent to me by Heaven, and I cannot part with it." " Fudge ! stuff ! fiddlesticks ! Sent to you by heaven, indeed ! S'pose heaven ever dropped a young one on the beach ? Likely story I" " Well, I consider it the same thing. Some one left •t on the beach, and heaven destined me to save it." "Nonsense ! no such thing ! 'twas that stupid rascal jupe. Making you get out. I'll horsewhip him within an inch of his life for it !" roared th6 old man, in a pas- sion. " I beg you wiU do no such thing, sir. It was no fault of Jupite/d. If you insist on its quitting the house, there remains but one course for me." "Confound it, ma'am ! you'd make a saint swear, ik i ■'" ' MOUNT SUNSET HALL. 47 aby heme ou bring '* Don't er twelve d yet yoL! he trans- ce it con squalling r that ?" it, then- keep the J, speech- he auda- . " I con- anot part J heaven, : one on one left it." d rascal nthin au \ a pas- ; was no ing the i^tar, %^ Solomon says. Pray tell me what is that course you speak of ?" "I must leave with it." " What ?" exclaimed the squire, perfectly aghast with amazement. " I must leave with it !" repeated Mrs. Gower, rising ^rom her scat, and speaking quietly, but firmly. " Sit down, ma'am — sit down, sit down ! Oh, Lord I ict me catch my breatU ! Leave with it ! Just say that over again, will you ? I don't think I heard right," " Your ears have not deceived you, Squire Erliston. I repeat it, if that child leaves, I leave, too !" You should have seen Squire Erliston then, as he sat bolt upright, his little round eyes ready to pop from their sockets with consternation, staring at good Mrs. Gower much like a huge turkey gobbler. That good lady stood complacently waiting, with her hand on the handle of the door, for what was to come next. She had not long wait ; for such a storm of rage burst upon her devoted head, that anybody else would have fled in dismay. But she, "good, easy soul," was quite accustomed to that sort of thing, and stood gazing upon him as serenely as a well-fed Biddy might on an enraged barn-yard chanticleer. And still the storm of abuse raged, interspersed with numerous quotations from Solomon — by way, doubtless, of impressing her that his wrath was righteous. And still Mrs. Gower stood se- rene aad unruflied by his terrible denunciations, look ing as placid as a mount lin lake slseping in the sun light. " Well, ma'am, well ; what do you think of your con- duct nowt" exclaimed the squire, when the violence of his rage was somewhat exhausted. " Just what I did before, sir. And what W2,3 that, eh ? — wnat was that ?" ■% U i'lj 'f'iil M f.j « h:"^ ,ir ;M;i i ; S 4i MOUNT SUNSET HALL. "That I have done right, sir ; and that I will keep tht child !" ^^You will?" thundere*^ the squire, in an awful voice. "Yes, sir !'* replied Mrs. Gower, slightly appalled b^ his terrible look, but never flinching in her determina- tion. "You — you — you — abominable — female, you!" stam inered the squire, unable to speak calmly, from rage Then he added : " Well, well I I won't get excited — no, ma'am. You can keep the brat, ma'am ! But mind you^ if it ever comes across me, I'll wring its neck for it as I would a chicken's !" " Then I may keep the little darling ?" said good Mr*?. Gower, gratefully. " I am sure I am much obliged, and " "There! there I there! Hold your tongue, ma'am 1 Don't let me hear another word about it — the pest ! the plague ! Be off with you now, and isend up dinner. Let the turkey be overdone, or the pudding burned, at your peril ! * Better a stalled ox with quietness, than a dry morsel,* as Solomon says. Hurry up there, and ring for Lizzie !" Mrs. Gower hastened from the room, chuckling at having got over the difficulty so easily. And from thai day forth, little Aurora, as her kind benefactress called her, was domesticated at Mount Sunset Hali. I1;i.' W 1; !*'il .(». S,r;j. f !■' UZZIJfS LOrMM. 11 keep th« ful voice, jpalled b)' letermina* >u !" stam rom rage cited — no, mind you, for it as I §;ood Mr*!. 1 obliged, 5, ma'am \ pest ! the iner. Let d, at your tian a dry d ring for ickling at from that «88 called it ■i CHAPTER VL lizzie's lover. •• Fond jfirl! no saint nor angel h« Who TTooes thy young simplicity J But one of earth's impassioned son*, As warm in love, as fierce in ire, As the best heart whose current runt Full of the day-god's living fire." FiKK WoisHirau. HE inn of St. Mark's was an old, brown, wooden house, with hui^c, unpainted shutters, and great oak doors, that in summer lay al- ways invitingly open. It stood in the center of the village, with the forest stretching away behind, and the beach spreading out in front. Over the door swung a huge signboard, on which some rustic artist had endeavored to paint an eagle, but which, un- fortunately, more closely resembled a frightened goose Within the " Eagle," as it was generally called, every- thing was spotlessly neat and clean ; for the landlord's pretty daughter was the tidiesi. of hoiAsewives. The huge, oaken door in front, directly under the above» mentioned sign-board opened into the bar-room, behind ttje counter of which the worthy host sat, in his huge .'Cuthern chair, from "early morn till dewy eve." An- other door, at the farther end, opened into the '^ big par- lor," the pine tloor of which was scrubbed as white as tiuman hands could make it ; and the two high, square windows at either end absolutely glittered with cleanli- ness. The wooden chairs were polished till they shone, and ^ever blazed a fire on a cleaner swept hearth thai^ 4 f ^ M 1 -K 11 ;''»i i ■ v I Ma i 1 i'i I 11' ■•, I i'i 1.-' S, i. 50 LIZZIES LOVER. that which now roared up the wide fire-place of the "Eagle." It was a gusty January night. The wind came raw and cold over the distant hills, now rising fierce and high, and anon dying away in low, moaning sighs among the shivering; trees. On the beach the waves came Jraifipinj^ inward, their dull, hollow voices booming like Jdir.tant thunder on the ear. But witliin the parlor of the "Eagle" the mirth and laughter were loud and boisterous. Gathered around the blazing fire, drinking, smoking, swearing, arguing, were fifteen or twenty men — drovers, farmers, fishermen, and loafers. '• Ihis yer's what / calls comfortable," said a lusty drover, as he raised a foaming mug of ale to his lips and drained it to the last drop. •* I swan to man if it ain't a rouser of a night," said a rather good-looking young fellow, dressed in the coarse garb of a fisherman, as a sudden gust of wind and hail came drivin/ 'The on says— * Indeed, sir, I should be sorry to think of my father's old friend in any such way, I beg to assure you." "No, you won't — haven't time. Come up to Mount Sunset- -come, right off ! Must, sir — no excuse; Liz '11 be delighted to see yoa. Come — come — come along !" "Since you insist upon it, squire, I shall do myscK the pleasure of accepting your invitation." " Yes, yes — to besure you will !" again interrupted the impatient squire. *' Bless my heart ! — and you're little Barry. Well, well !" " I am Barry, certainly," said the young man, smiling ; "but whithsr the adjective 'little' is well applied or not, I feel scr^iewhat dcabtful. 1 have a dim recollec« tion of measuring some six feet odd inches when I left home." " Ha, ha, ha ! — to be sure ! to be sure !" laughed the lusty old squire. " Little ! — by Jove ! you're a head and shoulders taller than I am myself. Yes, sir — true as gospel. ' Bad weeds grow fast,' as Solomon says. Lord ! W0n't my Liz be astonished, though ?" " I hope your daughter is quite well, squire." " Well ! — you'd better believe it. My daughter is never sick. No, sir ; got too much sense — specially Liz. Esther always was a simpleton — ran away, and all that, before she was out of her bibs and tuckers. Both died — knew they would. 'The days of the transgressors shall be short on the earth,' as Solomon says. But Liz has got her eye-teeth cut. Smart girl, my Liz." "I anticipate great pleasure in making the acquaint- ince of Miss Erliston," said (Jranmore, carelessly ; "her beauty and accomplishments have made her name famil- ial to me long ago." "Yes, yes, Liz is good-looking— deucedly good-look- Ing ; very like what I was at her age. Ah, you're laugh- iug, you -ascal I Well, I dare viy I'm no boauty now ^ ^'t«:* ' ii Hi in if r jii • I 4 m 1 ,■ 1 li I : $8 LIZZIE'S LOVER. but never mini that at present. 'Handsome is as hand some does,' as Solomon says. Come, get your traps and come along. Giles, lly round — we're in a hurry." Thus adjured, Giles kindly consented to "fly round.' All was soon ready ; and, after giving orders to hiiveliis portmanteau sent after him, young Oranmore mounted nis horse, and, accompanied by the squire, rode ofl toward Mount Sunset Hail, the squire enlivening ths way by numerous quotations from Solorcon. On reaching ihc Hall, his host ushered him into tte parlor, where, seated ut the piano, was the squire's daughter, Lizzie, singing, by some singular coinci- dence : "There's somebody coming to marry in»— There's somebody coming to woo.** Whether Miss Lizzie had seen that someh^tfy coming Ehrougli the wiiuiow, I cannot say. She rt>se abruptly from her seat as they entered, exciciirning : *» " Oil, papa ! I'm so glad you have come.* Then, seeing the stranger, she drew back with ths prettiest affectation of embarrassment in the world. Lizzie Erliston was pretty — decidedly pretty — with a little ^ound, graceful figure, snowy complexion, rosebud lips, and sparkling, vivacious blue eyes. Graceful, thoughtless, airy, dressy, and a most finished flirt was ir.le Lizzie. " Mr. Oranmore, my daughter Liz ; Liz, Mr. Oran- more, son of my old friend. Fact lur?/ ip trfaic- fast now — I'm starvintr.'' " I am delighted to welcome the soia of papa'b iriend " said L!z2ie, courtesy iiig to the handsome stranger, who returned the salutation v/itli easy gallantry. Brnikfftt was brought in. and the trio, together with LIZZIES LOVER, s as hand traps and ry." ly round.' to hiive liia J mounted rode ofl rening ths n into tiiC le squire's ar coinci* (fy coming y entered, t with the world, ty — with a n, rosebud Graceful, i flirt was Mr. Oran- I'b iriend " nger, who ether with worthy Mrs. Gower, were soon sea.ed around the table. "I am afraid, Mr. Oranmore, you will find it very i5ull here, after being accustomed to the gayetj of :ity life. Our village is the quietest place in ihe world." " Dull !" repeated Oranmore. " Did angels ever condescend to dwell on this earth. I should say they had taken up their abode in St. Mark's." He fixed his large dark eyes on her face, and bowed with a look of such ardent yet respectful admiration as he spoke, that Lizzie blushed "celestial, rosy red,' and thought it the prettiest speech she had ever heard. " Fudge !" grunted the squire. "Ah, Mr. Oranmore, I see you are a sad flatterer,' said the little lady, smilingly, buttering another roll. "Not so. Miss Erliston. Dare I speak what I think, I should indeed be deemed a flatterer," replied Oran- more, gallantly. " Bah !" muttered the squire, with a look of intense disgust. At this moment a child's shrill screams resounded in one of the rooms above, growing louder and louder each moment. " There — that's Aurora ! Just listen to the little ivretch !" exclaimed Lizzie. " That child will be the sloaLh of us yet, with her horrid yells. Her lungs must be made of cast-iron, or something harder, for she is in- cessantly screaming," The Squire darted an angry look at Mis. Gower, who faltered out : She was very sorr)- — that she had told Totty to be sure and keep her quiet — that she didn't «20w what was the matter, she was sure " Ring the bell \" said the squire, savagely cutting hc» U^ ^■1 tk-^ h.i I fj -1 ) I i I if I i I l:'i if.!!' F 1 1 ii Hi 1. I i I ! to LIZZIES LOVER. f^ wild, that ing from the city, where she had been to make purchases, and taking the shore roaci, picked up an infant on ihc beach, ar d brought it home. It is a wonder no inquiries were made about it." Barry Oran more breathed freely ag^in. It could not be his child, for he had seen the nurse before le.iving the city; and slic, fearing to lose her annuity, had told him tJe child was alive and well : therefore it must be an- other. A week passed rapidlv away at Sunset Hall. There were sails on the bay, and rides over the hills, and shady forest walks, and drives through the village, and long romantic rambles in the moonlight. And Lizzie Erlis- ton was in love. Was hel She thought so sometimes when his deep, dark eves would rest on her, and fill with softest languor as they wandered side by side. But, then, had she not discovered his restlessness, his evident longing to be away, though he still remained? Some* thing in his conduct saddened and troubled her ; for she loved him as devotedly as it was in the power of a nature essentially shallow and selfish to love. But the danger- ous spell of his voice and smile threw a glamour over her senses. She could almost have loved his ver)* faults, had she known them. And, yielding herself to that witching spell, Lizzie Erliston, who had often cai glu others, at last found herself caught. ■I Are you >re, recov it retun^ ' "^^i Lt .M I ,': THE CYPRESS WRBATB. m CHAPTER VII. THE CYPRESS WREATH, % i -Hit: 'V 1%! • i: ' i i^« * I :ii ** Brido, upon thy marriage-day. Did the tluttcring of thy breath Speak of joy or woe beneath ? And the h'le that, went and tame On thy cheek like waving fiamc, Flowed that crimson from the jnrest, Or the gladncs* of thy breast?" — Hkmans QUIRE ERLISTON, can I have a few mtv tnents' private conversation with you this morain^'Tf?" said Oranmore, as he sought J the squire, whom Mrs. Gower was just helping to ensconce in his easy-chair. " Certainly, certainly, my boy. Mrs. Gower, bring the rest of the pillows by and by. * Time for everything, as Solomon says. Clear out now, ma'am, while I attenc to this young man's case."* Barry Oranmore stood in the middle of the fioor resting one hand lightly on tlio back of a chair. Squire Erliston, propped up in an easy-chair with pillows and cushions, and wearing an unusually benign expression of countenance — caused, probably, by Miss Aurora's fsxtraordinary quiemess on that morni ly. " You have doubtless perceived, sir, my attentions to four daughter," v/ent on the young man, in a tone that ras almost careless. " Miss Lizzie, I am happy to say, returns my affection ; and, in short, sir, I havs as^edthis Interview to solicit your daughter's hand " He bowed slightly, and stood awaiting a reply Thf aquire jumprd frcm his seat, kicked one pillow to the 4 >>1 THE CYPRESS WRBATB, a few mo» h you this he sought r was just ;hair. wer, bring very thing, ilc I attenc the floor ir. Squire ullows and expression s Aurora's tentions to 1 tone thai ppy to say, \ asKedthis epiy Thf! low to ihe other end of the room, waved another above his head, and shouted : " Bless my soul ! it's just what I wanted ! Give us your hand, my dear boy. Solicit her hand ! Take it, take it, with all my heart. If ahc had a dozen of hanri*. you should have then; all.' " I thank you sincerely, Squire Erliston. Believe a c it fjnly needed your consent to our union ri fill my cuj: of happiness to the brim." His voice was low — almost scornful ; and the era phasis upon "happiness" was bitter, indeed. But the squire, in his delight, neither heeded nor noticed. "The wedding must come off immediately, my dear fellow. We'll have a rousing one, and no mistake. I was afraid Liz might run off with some penniless scamp as Esther did ; but nov/ it's all right. Yes, the sooner the wedding comes off the better. * He who giveth not his daughter in marriage, doeth well ; but he who giveth her doeth better,' as Solomoi. ought to know, seeing he had some thousands of 'em. Be off now, and arrange with Lizzie the day for the wedding, while I *:ake a sleep. When it's all over, wake me up. There, go ! Mrs. Gower ! hallo ! Mrs. Go wer, I say ! coroe here with the pillows." Oranmore hurried out, while Mrs. Gower hurried in — he to tell Lizzie of the success of his mission, and she CO prepare her master for the irms of Morpheus. That Jay fortnight was fixed upon as their marriage day. The Bishop of P was to visit St. Mark's, aiid during his advent in the village the nuptials were to bf celebrated. An'i such a busy place as Sunset Ha,ll bee. me aftej the important fact was announced ! Poor Mrs. Gowei lost, perceptibly, fifty pounds of flesh, with running in and out, anu up and down stair*^ Old carpets and old '% vu \:A ••■ ■;.ts ^i', t>^ !■ f THE CYPRESS WREATH. 11- I I uervants were tuned out, and new curtains and French cooks turned in. Carpets and custards, and .'cc-creami and Aurora's screair.s, and milliners and feathers, and fiowcrs a;id flounces, and jellies and jams, and upholstery nM^Tjnnd supreme, until the squire swore by all the " fiends :n flames" that it was worse than pandemonium, and !u:>hed fnnn the place in despair to seek refuge with Giles Fox, aiul smoke his pipe in peace at the " Eagle." Barry Orainnore, finding !iis bride so busily engaged superintending jewels, and satins, and laces, as to be able to dispense with his serviees, mounted his horse each daj, nnd seldom returned before night. And, amid all the bustle and confusion, no one noticed that he grew thinner and pa'"^ Jay after day ; nor the deep melan- choly filling his dark eyes; nor the bitter, self-scorning look his proud, liandsome face ever wore. They knew not how he paced up and down his room, night after niglif, trying to still the sound of one voice that was ever mournfully calling his name. They knew not that when be quilted the brilliantly-lighted rooms, and plunged into the deep, dark forest, it was to shut out the sight of a sad, n^proachful face, that ever haunted him, day and night. Lizzie was in her glory, flitting about like a bird from morning till night. Such wonderful things as she had rnrjir.ifactured out of white satin and Mechlin lace, and such confusion as she caused — flying through the house, bMr.ing the servants' ears, and lecturing Mrs. Gowerand shaking Aurora — who had leave now to yell to her heart's content— and turning everything topsy-turvy, until the squire broug'it down his fist with a thump, and declared that though Solomon had said there was a time for everything, neither Solomon, nor any other man, could ever convince him that there waa a time all«U9'ihing a Sunset Hall was restored to peace and quietness onrc more. The rooms were pcrfccily dazzling with the glitter of new furniture and the blaze of myriads of lusters. And such a crowd as on the wedding night filled those splendid ro(jms ! There was Mrs. Gower, maguificcnt in bruwn velvet, preserved for state occasions like the present, with such a miraculous combination of white ribb>n? and lace on her head. There was the squire, edifying the public generally with copious extracts from Solomon and seme that were nut from Solomon. There was Mrs Oranmore, grim and gray as ever, moving like the guilty shadow of a lost soul, through thnsc gorgeous rooias and that glittering crowd, with the miserable feeling at her heart, that her only son was tw be offered that night a sacrifice on the altar of her pride and ambition. There was Doctor Wiseman, all legs and arms, as usual, slinking among the guests. There was the bishop, a fat, pompous, oily-looking gentleman, in full canonicals, waiting to tie the Gordian knot. There was a bustle near the dooi a twaying to and fro of the crowd, and the bridal party entered. Every voice was instantaneously hushed, every eye was fixed upon tliem. How beautiful th« bride looked, with her elegant robes and gleaming jewels, her downcast eyes, and rose-tlushed cheeks, and half-smiling lips. The eyes of all the gentlemen present were fixed wistfully upon her. And the eyes of the ladies wandered to the bride- groom, with something very like a feeling of awe, as they saw how pale and cold he was looking — how dif- ferent from any bridegroom they had ever seen before. Were his thoughts wandering to ar.i/iher bridal, in a land beyond the sea, with one for whose blue eyes and golden hair he would then willingly have surrendered f aroe. and ■'11 Vk^^ 1;;^ 111 THE CYPRESS WREATH. wealth, and ambition ? And now, the who aai left friends, and hqme, and country for his sake, wasdetert^ for another. Yet still that unknown, penniless jjirl ^vas dearer than all the world beside. Well might he look and feel unlike a bridegroom, with but one image filling his heart, but one name on his lips — ** Eveleen I EveleenT But no one there could read the heart, throbbing so tumultuously beneath that cold, proud exterior. They passed through the long rooms — the bishop stood before them — the service began. To him it seemed like the service for the dead — to her it was the most delightful thing in the world. There was fluttering of fans, flirting of perfumed handkerchiefs, smiling lips and eyes, and .:il! : n ** With decorum all things carried ; Miss smiled, and blushed, and theo rTi«d.' fhe ceremony was over, and Li2zie Erliston was Liazie Erliston no longer. But just at that moment, when the crowd around were about to press forward to offer their congratulations, a loud, ringing footstep, that sounded as though shod with steel, was heard approaching. A moment more, and an uninvited guest stood among them. The tall, thin, sharp, angular figure of a woman past middle age, with a grim, weird, old-maidenish face ; a stiff, rustling dress of iron- gray ; a black net cap over her grizzled locks, and a tramp like that of a dragoon, completed the external of this rather unprepossessing figure. All fell back and made way for her, while a murmur : " Miss Hagar ! What brings Miss Hagar here ?" passed through the room. She advanced jtraight to where Lizzie stood, leaning proudly and fondly on the arm of Oranmore, and draw lag forth a wreath of mingled cypresi and dismal yew. TSTB CYPRESS WRBA «7 laid it amid the orange blussoms on the head of ihe Dride. With a siiriek of superstitious terror, Lizzie tcre the jn.inous wreath from her iiead, and tlung it on the floor. Heeding not the action, the woman raised her long, aunt, lleshless arm liive an inspired sibyl, and chanted a a voice so wild and dreary, that every heart stood .:il! : " Oh, bride ! woe to thee ! Ere the spring leaves deck the tree, Those locks you now with jewels twine Shall wear this cypress wreath of mloe.'* 'I % ■A' Then striding through the awe-struck crowd, she passed out and disappeared. Faint and siclc with terror, Lizzie hid her face in the arm that supported her. A moment's silence ensued, broken by the squire, who came stamping along, ex- claiming : " Hallo I what's the matter here ! Have cither of these good people repented of their bargain, already. 'Better late than never,' as Solomon says." " It was only my sister II agar, who came here to pre- dict fortunes, as usual," said Doctor Wiseman, with an uneasy attempt at a laugh, " and succeeded in scaring Miss Lizzie — Mrs. Oranmore, I mean — half out of her yrits." " Pooh ! pooh ! 13 that all. Liz, don't be such a little fool ! There goes the music. Let every youngster be off, on penalty of death to the dancing-room. * Time to darce,' as Solomon says, and if it's not at weddings, I'd like to know when it is. Clear !" Thus adjured, with a great deal of laughing and chatting, the company dispersed. The folding-doors flew open, and merry feet were toon tripping gayly to »*1 t,'H;| •15.: V-J* ■ f ■ l1»'. til I, r Ml '.;: .ji ■-il!.i! i 1^^ ! ^' ', i 'i. ' 'it * It i 1 68 TJIF CYPRESS WREATH. the music, and flirtinir, and laut»hin{r, and love-mr.k\ng. and ice-creams were soon at their height, and Lizzie, as the Iloated airily around the room in the waltz, soon f«>t- got all about Miss Hagar's prcdiciiou. Barry Orannu itt by an citort, shook off his gloom, and laughed with t[ f merriest, and waltzed with his bride, and the pretty bride maids ; and all the ume his heart was faraway withtha haunting shape that had stood by his side all the night. ,c * * * ♦ * A monai had passed away. Their bridal toui had been a short one, and the newly wedded pair had »-e- turned to Sunset Hall. And Lizzie was at la^t begin- ning to open her eyes, and wonder what ailed her husband So silent, so absent, so restless, growing more and more so day after day. His long rides over the hills were now taken alone ; and he would only return to lie on a lounge ill some darkened room, with his face hidden from view by his long, neglected locks. At first she pouted a little at this ; but seeing it produced no etiect, she at last concluded to let him have his own v.ay, and she would take !iers. So evening after evenin?:, while he lay i lone, so still and motionless, in his darkened chamber, Lizzie frequented parties and soirees, giving Implausible excuses for her husband's absence, and was the gayest of the gay. One morning, returning with the gray dawn, from an unusually brilliant soiree^ she inquired for her husband, and learned that, naif an hour before, he had called for his horse and ridden off. This did not surprise her, foi it had often happened so before ; so, without giving the matter a second thought, she flung herself on her bed, and fell fast asleep. Half an hour after the sound of many feet, and a confused murmur of many voices below, fell on her ear. Wondering what it could mean, she raieed herself on you THE CYPRESS WREATH. 69 her elbow to listen, when the door was burst open ; and Totty, gray, gasping, horror-stricken, stood before her. "Totty, what in the name of heaven is the matter !** exclaimed Lizzie, in surprise and alarm. " Oh, missus ! Oh, mi§sus !" were the only words the frightened negress could utter. "Merciful heaven ! what has happened?" exclaimed Lizzie, springing to her feet, in undefined terror. "Totty, Totty, tell me, or 1 shall go and see." '* Oh, Miss Lizzie ! Oh, Miss Lizzie !" cried the giil, ^alliiig on her knees, " fur dc dear Lord's sake, don't go. Oh, Miss Lizzie, it's too drefful to tell ! It would kill you ! With a wild cry, Lizzie snatched her robe from the clinging hands tliat held it, and fled from the room down the long staircase. There was a crowd round the parlor door ; all the servants were collected there, and inside she could see many of the neighbors gathered. 3he strove to force iier way through the throng of appalled servants, who meclianically made way for her to uass. " Keep her back — keep her back, I tell you," cried the voice of Dr. Wiseman, " would you kill her?" A score of hands were extended to keep her back, but they were too late. She had entered, and a sight met her eyes that bent the blood curdling with horror to her i)eart. A wild, terrilic shriek rang through the house, as she thr^w up both arms and fell, in strong convulsions ou the floor. ..1' MS ,1 r r .11 Gi^SY. CHAPTER Vlir ji'i I GIPSY. ' A little, wild-eyed, tawny diild. A fairy sprite, untamed and wild* Like to no one save herself, A laughing, mocking, gipsy tW* EAR after year glides away, and wc wondei vaguely that they can have passed. On our way to the grave we may meet many troubles, but time obliterates them all, and we learn to laugh and talk as merrily again as though the grass was not growing between our face and one we could never love enough. But such is life. Ten years have passed away at St. Mark's since the close of our last chapter ; ten years of dull, tedious mo- notony. The terrible sight that had met Lizzie Oran- more's eyes that morning, was the dead form of her young husband. He had been riding along at his usual reckless, headlong pace, and had been thrown from his horse and killed. Under the greensward in the villi^e church-yard, they laid his world-weary form to rest, with only the name inscribed on the cold, white marble to tell he had ever existed. And no one dreamed of the youthful romance that had darkened all the life of Barry Oran- more. Lying on the still heart, that had once beat so tumultuDusly, they found the miniature of a fair young face and a long tress of sunny hair. Wondering silent- ly to whcm they belonged, good Mrs. Gower laid them aside, little dreaming of what they were one day to dis- coTer. M GIPSY. U the Lizzie, with her usual impulsiveness, wept and sobbed for a time inconsclably. But it was not in her shallow, thoughtless nature to grieve long for any one ; and ere a year had passed, :he laughed as gayly %nd sang as merrily as ever. Sometimes, it may be, when her child — her boy- would look up in her face with the large dark eyes oi him who had once stolen her girlish heart away, tears for a moment would weigh down her golden eyelashes ; but the next instant the passing memory was forgotten, and her laugh again rung out merry and clear. And so the ten years had passed, and no change had taken place at Sunset Hal' save that it was far from be- ing the quiet place it had been formerly. Has the reader forgotten Aurora, the little foundling of yelling notoriety? If so, it is no fault of hers, for that shrill-voiced young lady never allowed herself to be pushed aside to make room for any one. Those tea years at least made a change in her. See her now, as she stands with her dog by her side, for a moment, to rest, in the quaint old porch fronting Sunset Hill. She has been romping with Lion this morning, and now, panting and breathless, she pauses for an instant to prepare for a fresh race. There she stands ! A little, slight, wiry, agile figure, a little thin, dark, but bright and sparkling face, with smail, irregular features, never for amomei t at rest. With a shower of short, crisp, dark curls streaming in the b 'eeze, every shining ring dancing with life, and fire, and mirth, and mischie^. And with such eyes, looking in .ler face you forgot every other feature gazing in those " lonnv wjills of brown," that seemed fairly scintillating wickedness. How they did dance, and ilash, and sparkle, with youth, and glee, and irrepressible fun — albeit the darker flame that now and then le^i-pcd from their shining depths be- 'm :l:^ .til ■■ .^M 7« GiPsy. »5 , spoke a wild, fierce spirit, untamed and daring, slumber' lug in her heart, quiet and unarouscd as "et, but which would one day burst forth, scathing, blighting all on whom it fell. And such is Aurora Gower. A wild, dark, e'.fish ;;hangelir •laughter if you did, you know." % ,4! ^M 3*" m m • s I il vi 5 'f ii. I f9 crpst: *' You don't call yourself a man. I hcpc T said Louis. "Well, if I don't, I'm a girl— which is a thousand times nicer. And speaking of girls, reminds me tha( Miss Hagar's got the dearest, darlingest, beautifuUst little girl you ever sot your eyes on." •* Miss Hagar ?" they all exclaimed in surprise. " Ves, to be sure. Law ! you needn't look so aston ished ; this is a free country. And why can't Miss Hagar have a little girl, if she wants to, as well as any- body else, I'd like to know ?" exclaimed Gipsy, rathcj indignantly. "To be sure," said Louis, who took the same view of the case as Gipsy. " Where did she get it ? — whose little girl is it?** in- quired Lizzie, slightly roused from her languor by the news. " Don't know, I'm sure ; nobody don't She was ofl somewhere poking round all day yesterday, and came home at night with tliis little girl. Oh, Louis, she's such a dear little thing !" " Is she ?" said Louis, absently. " Yes, indeed — with a face like double- refined moon- light, and long, yellow hair, and blue eyes, and pink dress, and cheeks to match. She's twice as pretty as Minette ; and Miss Hagar's going to keep her, and teach her to tell fortunes, I expect," " I wonder Dr. Wiseman allows Miss Hagar to fill the house with little beggars," said Lizzie. " Oh, Spider's got nothing to do with it. Miss Hagar has money of her own, and can keep her if she likes. Pitj if she'd have to ask permission of that 'thing of legs and arms,' ererything she wants to do." " Gipsy, my dear, you really must not speak so of Dr. Wiseman ; it's positively shocking, ' »aid the highlj •candalixed Mrs. Oranmore. GrPSY. 79 ** Well, I don't care ; he is a ' ihing of legf tod arms.' There, now !" "What's the little girl's name, Gipsy?** inquired Louis. ^* Celeste — isu'i it preity ? And she— oh, she's a dar- ling and no mistake. Wouldn't I marry her if 1 was a man— maybe I wouldn't." " What's her other name ?" " Got none — ;it ieust she said so ; and, as I didn't like to tell her she told a story, I asked Miss Hagar, and slu told me to mind my own business : yes, she actually did. Nobody minds how tliey talk to me. People haven't a bit of respect for mc ; and I have to put up with sass from every one. I won't stand it much longer, either. There !" " No, I wouldn't advise you to," said Louis. " Better fi/down ; no use in standing it." "Wiseman's a fool if he lets that crazy tramp, his sister, suppoit beggars in his house," exclaimed the squire, in a threatening tone. " Lunatics like her should aot be allowed to go at large. He has no business to permit it." " I'd like to see him trying to stop it," said Gipsy. •* I'd he in his wool." * You r said the squire, contemptuously. " What •Tould a little Tom Thumb in petticoats, like you, do ?" " Look here, now, Guardy, don't call a lady names. 7/hen you speak of Tom Thumb, you know, it's getting personal. What could I do ? Why, I'd set his house on fire some night about his ears, or some day, when out shooting, a bullet might strike him accidentally on pur- pose. It takes me to defend injured, innocence," said Gipsy, getting up, and squaring-off in an attitude of de- fiance, as she exclaimed : "Come on, old Wiseman, I'm ready for you \" 4 'I MM 'I M I> •; 1 I .! H « I '*Wcll, T cMii't allow yoii to associate with beggars You rnu;;t never go !-> Deep Dale again. 1 car 't coun- tenance ills pruceciliiigs. If lie choose to make a fuol o( himself, il'b no reu.soii why I bhould do so too." " None in the world, sir — especially as nature has savcil you iliat troiilile." "You Hudacious little demon, youl what do you mean ?" •' Ahem ! I was just observing, sir, that it's time for breakfast," siiid Gipsy, demurely. "Humph! iiiunph ! well, ring for Mrs. Gower, aDd hold your tont^ue " "Soiry I can't oblige you, Guardy. But how can I hold my tongue and eat ?" *' 1 wish I could find something to take the edge ofl it ; it's allogellier too sharp," growled the old man to himself. Mrs. Gower, fat and good-natured as ever, entered at this moment ; and, as they assembled round the table, the squire — who, though he generally got the worst of the arij[uinent, would never let Gipsy rest — again re- sumed the subject. "Mind, monkey, you're not to go to Deep Dale again ; I forbid y go thece m fV: "II '^ ! If ji STORM, CHAPTER IX. A STORM AT MOUNT SUNSIT " At this Sir Knight grew high in wrath. And lifting hands and eyes up both, Three times he smote his stomach stoat. From whence, at longih. tierce wordft broke ont." HiTDIBMia OTTV ! Totty ! I say, Totty, where arc you : I declare to screech, I never saw such a provoking darkey in my life. Nobody never can find her when she's wanted I Totty ! Totty ! hallo, Totty \ I want you dreadfully, it's a matter of life and death ! If that girl doesn't pay more attention to me, I'll — I'll discharge her ; I will, so help me Jimmy Johnston ! Totty ! Totty-y-y !" So calico and >shouted Gipsy, as she flew in and out, and up and down stairs, banging doors after her with a noise that made the old house ring, and scolding at the top of her voice all the lime. " Laws ! Miss Roarer, here I is," said Totty, hurrying as fast as possible into the piesence of the little virago, to get rid of the noise "Oh, it's a wonder you came ! I s'posc you*d rather be lounging down in the kitcherj than 'tending to your mistress. How dare you go away, when you don't know what minute I may want you ? Hey ?" "Good Lor! Miss Roarer, I only went down to de kitchen tc get my breakfas' 'long o' the res'. How you 'spec I's gwine tj live 'thout eatin'? Yoia alien i§a call jes' the contrariest time, allers " ** Hold your tongue !" exclaimed hex imperioui little /f ^TORM. «3 mistress ; '* don't give me any of your impermtce ! There, curl my hair, and put on my pretty purple riding-habit, and make me juct as pret:y as ever you can. Hurry up!" "Make you pretty, indeed !" muttered the indignant Totty ; " 'deed, when de Lord couldn't dc it, 'taint very likely I can. Come 'long and keep still, two or free minutes, if you can. 1 never knew such a res'less little critter in all my life." While Gipsy was standing as quietly as her fidgety nature would allow, to have her hair curled, Mrs. Gower entered. "Well, 'Rora, my dear, where are you going this morning, that you are dressing in your best ?" said Mrs. Gower, glancing at the gay purple riding-habit — for dress was a thing Gipsy seldom troubled herself about. " Why, aunty, where would I be going ; over to Spi- der's, of course " "Oh, Gipsy, my dear, pray don't think of such a thing !" exclaimed the good woman, in a tone of alarm. " Your guardian wil) be dreadfully angry." *^ Lor ! aunty, I know that ; there wouldn't be any fun in it if he wasn't," replied the elf. ' Oh, Aurora, child ! you don't know what you're do* ing. Consider all he has done for you, and how ungrate- ful t w of you to disobey h.m in this manner. Now, he has set his heart on keeping you from Deep Dale (you know he never liked the doctor nor his family), and he will be terribly, frightfully angry if he finds you have dis- obeyed him. Ride over the hills, go out sailing or shoot- ing, but do not go there." Gipsy, who had been yawning fearfully during this address, now jerked herself away from Totty, and re- plied, impatiently : ** W«ll, /// him get frightfully angry ; I'll get 'fright- M I : 'M mi » I I I 3 t4 u4 STORht, fully an^^ry* .00, and so there will be a pair of us. Do you s'poi^e I'd miss seeing iliat dear, sweet, little girl again, just because Guardy will stamp, and fume, and roar, and scare all mankind into fits? Not I, indeed. Let him cume on, wiio's afraid," and Gipsy threw her- self itjio a bta^e altitude, and shouted the words in a voice liiat was quite imposing, coming as it did from so small a body. "Oh, Gipsy, ciiild ! consider," again began Mrs. Gowcr. "Oh, aunty, dear ! I won't consider, never did; don't agree with my constitution, no how you can fix it Archie told me one day when I was doing something he considered a crazy trick, to ' consider.' Well, for his sake, I tried to, and before ten minutes, aunty, I felt symptoms of falling iiiro a decline. There now !" " Oh, my dear ! my dear ! you are incorrigible," sighed Mrs. Gower; "but what would you do if your guardian some day turned you out of doors ? You have no claim on him, and he might do it, you knckv, in a fit of anger." " If he did " — exclaimed Gipsy, springing up with flashing eyes. " Well, and if he did, what would you do ?** " Why, I'd defy iiim to his face, and then I'd run off, and go to sea, and make my fortune, and come back, and marry you — no, I couldn't do that, but I'd marry Archie. Lor! I'd get along splendidly." " Oh, Gipsy ! Gipsy ! rightly named Gipsy ! how lit- tle you know what it is 10 be friendless in the world, you poor little fairy you ! Now, child, be quiet, and talk sensibly to me for a few minutes." "Oh, bcHlicr, aunty ! I can t be quiet ; and as to talk- ing sensibly, why I rather think I am doing that just mow. There, now— now do, please, bottle up that lecture A STORM. youVe got for me, and it'll keep, for I m oft *' And darting past them, slie ran down stairs, through the long hall, and was fiying toward the stables in a twinkling. On her way she mei our old friend, Jupiter. " Hallo, Jupe ! Oh, there you are ! Go and saddle Mignonne 'mediately. I want him ; quick, now !" "Why, Miss Roarer, iioni;y, I'se sorry for ter diser- b'ige yer, rhile, but ole mar/r he tole me not to let yer get Minnin to-day," said Jupiter, looking rather uneasily at the dark, wild, little face, and large, lustrous eyes, in which a storm was fast brewing. " Do you mean to say he told you not to let me have my pony ?" she said, (^r ruther hissed, through her tight- ly-clenched teeth. " Jes' so, Miss Ro irer ; he tell me so not ten minutea< ago." " Now, Jupiter, look here ; you go right off and sad- dle Mignonne, or it'll be the worse for you. D'ye hear?" "Miss Roarer, I 'clare for't I dassent Mas'r'll half kill me." "And I'll whole kill you if you don't," Miid Gipsy, with a wild flash of her black eyes, as she spi-ang lightly on a high stone bench, and raised her riding-whip over the head of the trembling darkey; "go, sir; go iight off and do as I tell you !" " Laws ! I can't — 'deed chile ! I can't ** Whack ! whack ! whack ! with no gentle hand went che whip across nis shoulders, interrupting his apology. " There, you black rascal I will you dare to disobey your mistress again !" Whack ! whack ! whack ! " If you don't bring Mignonne out this minute, I'll shoot you dead as a mackerel ! There; does that argument over- come your scruples ?" whack ! whack ! whack I With tomething bctv^een a yell and a howl, poor '>u '.'fj i: ■1 ,,, M A STOJtll. i1 Jupiter sprung back, and commenced rubbing his afflicted back. ** Will you go ?" demanded Gipsy, raising her whip once more. " Yes ! ) cs ! Who ever did see such a 'bolical littlt limb as dat ar. Ole mas'r Ml kill me, I knows he will," ivhimpered poor Jupiter as he slunk away to the stables, closely followed by his vixenish little mistress, still poising the dangerous whip. Mignonne, a small, black, fleet-footed, spirited Ara- bian, was led forth, pawing the ground and tossing his head, as impatient to be off, even, as his young mistress. "That's right, Jupe," said Gipsy, as she sprang into the saddle and gathered up the reins ; " but mind, for the future, never dare to disobey me, no matter what any- body says. Mind, if you do, look out for a pistol-ball, some night, through your head." Jupiter, who had not the slightest doubt but what the mad-headed little witch would do it as soon as not, began whimpering like a whipped school-boy. Between the Scylla of his master's wrath, and the Charybdis of his willful little mistress, poor Jupiter knew not which way to steer. " Don't cry, Jupe — there's a good fellow," said Gipsy, touched by his distress. " Keep out of your master's sight till I come back, and I'll take all the blame upoc myself. There, now — off we go, Mignonne !" And waving her plumed hat above her head, with at sh. ,jt of triumphant defiance as she passed the house, Gipsy verr. gjiii oping down the road like a flash. The ?ky. which all the morning had looked thrcat- Abo -J r.as ripicUy graving darker and darker. ajf an i.our after the departure of Gipsy, thf Btorrti briS' upon them \i\ tuil fury. The wind h'-wled fiercely t»u' oir^h di.? ^orcst, the rain fell in torrents, the A STO&M. »7 lightning dashed in one continued sheet of blue electric flame, the thundrr crashed peal upon peal, until heaven and earth seemed rending asunder. Tlie frightened inmates of Sunset Hall were huddled together, shivering with fear. Th»? doors and windows were closed f isi, and the servants, gray with terror, were cowering in alarm down in the kitchen. ** Lor' have massy 'pon us ! who ever seed sich light- nin' ? 'Pears as though all de worl' was 'luminated, and de las' day come !" said Jupiter, his teeth chattering with terror. ** An' Miss Roarer, she's out in all de storm, an' ole nas'r don't know it," said Totty. " She would go, spite of all Missus Scour said. I 'clare to man, that dat ar rampin,' tarryfyin' little limb's 'nuff to drive one clar 'stracted. I ain't no peace night nor day 'long o' her capers. Dar !" " Won't we cotch it when mas'r finds out she's gone," said a cunning-looking, curly-headed little darkey, whom Gipsy had nicknamed Bob-o-link, with something like a chuckle,; "good Lor I jes' see ole mas'r a swearin' an' tearin' round', an* kickin' de dogs an' niggers, i' smashin' de res' ob de furnitur'. Oh, Lor !" And i dently overcome by the ludicrous scene which fancy ^ conjured up, Bob-o-link threw himself back, and *nt off into a perfect convulsion of laughter, to the h ror ol the rest. While this discussion was going on below staii i, a tar different scene was enacting above. At the first burst of the storm, Lizzie and Mrs. Gower hastened in affright to the parlor, where the squire was peacefully snoring in his arm-chair, and Louis was btill finishing his sketch. The noise and bustle of their entrance aroused the iquiie from bis slumbers, and after sundry short snorts S *'"« h. •••*. • : M * * U A STOA\if. he woke up, and seeing the state of affsuts, hit first in quiry was for Gipsy. " Where's thai little abominaticn, now ?" he abruptly demanded, in a t<;nc that denoted his temper was not im- proved by the sudden breaking up of his nap. All were silent. Mrs. Gower through fear, and the others thrt)Ugh ignorance. " Where is she } where is she, I say ?" thundered the squire. " Doesn't somebody know ?" " Most likely up stairs somewhere," said Louis. " Shall I go and see .'*'' "No, you sha'n't *go and see.' It's the duty of the women there to look after her, but they don't do it She might be lost, or murdered, or killed, fifty times a day, for all they care. ' Who trusteth in the ungodly shall be deceived,' as b>)lomijn says. Ring that bell." Louis obeyed ; and in a few minutes Totty, quaking with terror, made her appearance. "Where's your young mistress? Where's Miss Gipsy, eh?" demanded the squire, in an awful voice. " Deed, mas'r, she's rode off. I couldn't stop hei nohow, 'deed " "Rode off I" siiouted the squire, as, forgetful of his gouty leg, he sprang to his feet ; " rode off in this storm ? Villains ! wretches I demons ! I'L murder every one of you ! Out in this storm ! Good Lord ! Clear out, every living soul of you, and if one of you return with- out her, I'll — I'll blow his brains out !" roared the old man, purple with rage. " Why, grandfather," said Louis, while the rest cowered with fear, *' it is not likely Gipsy is cut exposed to the storm. There arc many places of shelter well- known to her among the hiJis, and there she will stay until this hurricane is over. It would be impossible for f- A STORM. any one .^ find her now, even thougb. thej could i^de througli this storm." "Silence!" thundered the squire; "they must find her ! Mere, Jupe, Jake, Bob, and the rest of you, mount, and off in scr.rch of Miss Aurora over the hills, and at .he peril of your life, return vvitliout her. Be off! go! ranish ! and mind ye, be sure to bring her home." •' Lau' ! nr.rsV, Mi>^s Roarer ain't over de hills. She's gene over to Deep Dale," said Totty. " What !" exclaimed the squire, pausing in his rage, aghast, thunder struck at the news. "'Deed, Lord knows, mas'r, I couldn't stop her." •' Vou — you — you — diabolical imp you !" roared the old man, seizing his crutch, and hurling it at * .' head, as Totty, in mortal alarm, dodged and fled from the room. " Oh, the little demon ! the little wretch I won't I pay her for this, when I get hold of her I the — the dir obedient, pngrateful, undutiful hussy I I'll cane her within an inch of her life ! I'll lock her up on bread and water ! I'll kee{) her in the house day and night I I'll — oh, Lord, my leg," he exclaimed, with a groan, as he fell back, powerless, between rage and despair, in his seat. Mrs. Gowerand Liz/ie, still quaking with terror, drew farther into the corner to escape his notice, while Louis bent still lower over his drawing to hide a smile that was breakinsr over iiis face. At thii mom^rnt a fresh burst of rain and wind shook the doors and windows of the old house, and with it the squire's rage broke out afresh. " Call Jupe ! Be off, Louis, and tell him to ride over to Deep Dale this instant, and bring that little fiend home ! And tell him if he doesn't return with her in less than half an hour, I'll break every bone in his body ! 1 1 . fctd 'is •'i' A STOXM. \ I \i- Louis accordinu;ly repaired to the k tchen and deliv- ercti the order to pcxir Jupiter — who, bemoaning^ his hard fate in b.nng ohlL^^ed to serve so whimsical a master, was forcetl to set out in the storm in search of the oap«i cic..3 Gipsy. Half ail hour, three-quarters passed, and then Jupiter, soakini; witii rain, and reeiiinc^ with sweat, came gallop- ing back ; but like youn<^ Lochinvar, immortalized in the song : " He rode unattended and rode all alone,** and p:ray, and shaking, and trembling with fear and ex- pectation of the '* wrath which was to come/' he pre- sented himself before his master. " Well, sir, whcre's Miss Gipsy ?" shouted the oJd man, as he entenxl. *' Mas*!, I couldn't bring her, to save my precious J.ife ; she WDuldn't come, nohow. I tell her you wanted her in a dcsprit hurry ; and she said, s'posin' you waited till your hurry was over. I said you tole me not to come home 'thout her ; and she said, very well, I might stay all night, if I liked, 'cause she warn't comin' home till to morrcr. I tole her you was t'arin' mad ; and she said, you'd better have patience, and smoKC your pipe. I couldn't do nothin' 'tall with her, so I left, an' come back, an' dat's all." And without waiting for the burst of wrath which ho saw coming, Jupiter beat a precipitate retreat to the lower regions. Vou should liave seen the wrath of Squire Erliston then. How he stamped, and raged, and swore, and threatened, until he nearly frightened Lizzie into hyste- rics, used as she was to nis fits of passion. And then, at last, when utterly exhausted, he ordered the servants to go and prepare a large, < ipty room, which had long Deen unused, as a priso or Gipsy, upon her return K ,' dclW. s hard laster, oapi i Af/SS If AGAR, 9' Everything was taken out of it, and here the squire vowed she should remsiin until she had learned to obey him for the future. Then, relapsing into sulky silence, he sal down, ** nursing his wrtth to keep it wann,** until She return of the little delinquent. 1 i CHAPTER X. MISS HAGAR. * Let me gaze tor a moment, that ere I 4i«, I may read thee, lady, a prophecy : That brow may beam in glory awhile, That ohcfk may bloom, and that lip raay raifl9{ But clouds shall darken that brow of snow, And sorrows blight tha» bosom's glo»r." — L. DATiaofi, [EANTIME, while t);e squire was throwing the household of Sunset Hall into terror and con- sternaiion, the object of his wrath was en- jovinr; herself with audacious coolness at Deep Dile. The family of Doctor Nicholas Wiseman consisted ol snc daughter, a year o** two older than Gipsy, a nephew "ailed Archie Rivers, and a maiden step-sister, Miss Hagar Dcdley. T)te doctor, who was naturally grasping and avaricious, would not have burdened himself with the carf* of th(^se two had it been anything out of his own pocket. The parents of Archie Rivers had been tolerabl) wealthy, and at their death had left him quite a fortune and amply remunerattxi the d:>ctor for taking charge of him until he should be of age Miss Hagarhad a slender incom:, sufficient for her wants, p^viH waft permitted a room (\ Ml u,»i til :iii ■^w l> U/SS NAGAR *m \\ ■{-> 1 Ln his house as long as she should continue to take cart of herself. Deep Dale had once been the residence of a wealthy and aristocratic family, but had i)y sc me unknown meant pissed from their hands to those of Doctor Wiseman, It was, as its name implied, a long, deep, sloping dale, with the forest of St. Mark's towering darkly be hmo, and a wide, grassy lawn sloping down from the front The house itself was a long, low, irregular man<;ion of gray sandstone, with a quaint, pleasant, old-fashioned look. Evening was now approaching. The curtains were drawn, the lamps lighted, and the family assembled in the plainly, almost scantily, furnished sitting-room. By the tire, in a large leathern arm-chair, sat our old acquaintance, the doctor, with one long, lean leg crossed over the other, one eye closed, and the other fixed so iotcntly on the lloor that he seemed to be counting the threads in the carpet. Vears have done anything but add to his charms, his face never looked so much like yellow parchment as it did then, his arms and legs were longer and skinnier-looking than ever, and altogether, a more unprepossessing face could hardly have been discovered. By the table, knitting, sat Miss Hagar. Her tall, thin figure, and grave, solemn face, made her look almost majestic, as, with her lips firmly compressed, she knit away in grim silence. Unlike other spinsters, she nei- ther petted dogs nor cats, but had a most unaccountable mania for fortune-telling, and had been, for years, the seereia anJ sibyl oi the whole neighborhood. In a distant corner of the room sat the little pr0tegei of Miss Hagar, with Gipsy on one side of her, and Archie Rivers on the other, regarding her as though she were ftome sort of natural curiosity. And, tnilj, a more lovely child could scarcely have been found. 1 k ,;i VA^.S" HAG An. ff She appeared to be about the same age ai Gipsy, but nas taller aiul fiiorc graceful, with a beautifully rounded fipure, not plump, like that of ujjst children, but slender and clei^'ant, ami lithe as a willow wand. A small, fair, Kwect face, with lorii;, golden hair, and soft, dreamy eye:i of blue, and a sniile like an angel's. Such was Celeste ! Such a contrast as she was to Gipsy, as she sat witl; her little white iiands folded in her lap, the long golden lashes fallininr sliyly over the blue eyes , her low, sweet voice and timid manner, so still and gentle ; and her elfish companir)n, with her dark, bright face, her eager. sparkliiij^. restless eyes, her short, sable locks, and her every motion so quick and startling, as to miake one nervous watchin:^: her. Archie Rivers, a merry, good-looking lad, with roguish blue eyes and a laughing face, sat, alternately watching tlie fair, downcast face of Celeste, and the piquant, gipsyisli countenance of the other. At the table sat Minnette Wiseman, a proud, superb- looking girl of twelve. Her long, jet-black hair fell in glossy braids over her shoulders ; her elbows rested on the table ; her chin supported by her hands; her large, glittering black eyes fixed on Celeste, with a look of fixed dislike and jealousy that was never to die out dur- ing life. " And so you have no other name but Celeste,*' said Gipsy, trying to peer under the drooping lashes resting on the blue-veined cheek. "Now, if that isn't funny! Everybody has two names but you — even me. I have two names." *' Yes, Gipsy Gowcr. There is something odd and elfinish in the very name," said Archie, laughing. "Elfinish? It's no such thing. It's a great deal prettier than yours, Archie Rivers I And wh«r« didyoa ■Ms •rj > .1 • 1 i! : s i ? ",( :• 'J IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 11.25 ■ 50 ^^^ |5« Hi 2.5 2.2 12^ U2. 12.0 I: I 1.8 U 11,6 VI '^ m 7. yS Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WKT MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716)972-4503 -y * - -— T P tm. '11 I »4 Jff/SS HAGAM. 1 I : ' 1 ' i. ' 1:1; :t ^■ii !:l !'■■' V I i! 'I|: if! •, 1 \ > 1 .■ i ■ n,i1' ! ■;ni :n 1 ' : • 1 .J 1 , live before you came here, Celeste ?" continued Gipsy, returning to thj charge. " With Aunt Katie," replied Celeste, softly. " And where is she now .'*" went on Gipsy. "Dead!" said the child, while her lip trembled, anc ?. tear fell on the little brown hand lying on her own. ; )o tell I and I've made you cry, too. Now, if that Is':. »,oo bad. Do you know. Celeste, I never cried in ** Oh, what a fib I" exclaimed Archie. " You were tlie horridest young one to cry ever I heard in my life You did nothing but yell and roar from morning till night." " I don't believe it ! I don't believe it !" inignantly exclaiiiied Gipsy. " I'm sure I was too sensible a baby to do anything of the kind. Anyway, I have never cried since I can remember. And as to fear — were you ever afraid ?" she asked, suddenly, of Celeste. " Oh, yes— often." Did you ever? Why, you look afrsid now. Are you ?" "Yes." " My ! What of ?" " Of you," said Celeste, shrinking back, shyly, frou: her impetuous little questioner. " Oh, my stars and garters ! Afraid of /w/, and afte* I've been so quiet and good with her all the evening !" ejaculated Gipsy ; while Archie, who was blessed with :i lively sense of the ridiculous, leaned back and l?ughed heartily. " Well, after that I'm never going to believe there's anything but ingratitude in fAis world," said Gipsy, with an emphasis on the " f/u's " which seemed to denote ihe /tad met with srratitude in another. UISS HAOAR, fS But tears filled the gentle eyes of Celeste, as she looked up, and said : " Oh, I hope you're not angry with mc. I didn'i mean to offend you, I'm sure. I'm so sorry." "Oh, it's no matter. Nobody minds what they saj) to me. I'm used to it. But it's so funny you should be afraid. Why, I never was afraid in my life." "That's true enough, anyway," said Archie, with ^s assenting nod. " There's Guardy now. Oh ! won't he be awful when I get home — but laws ! who cares ! I'll pay him off for it, if he makes a fuss. I sha'n't be in his debt long, that's one comfort." " Do you remember how dolefully Jupiter looked as he came in for you, all dripping wet ; and when you told him you wouldn't go, he " and overcome by the ludicrous recollection, Master Archie again fell back in a paroxysm of laughter. " What a fellow you are to laugh, Archie !** remarked Gipsy. " You astonish me, I declare. Do you laugh much, Celeste ?" " No, not much." " That's right — I don't laugh much either — I'm too dignified, you know ; but somehow I make other people laugh. There's Archie now, for everlasting laughing ; but Minnette — do you know I never saw her laugh yet- that is, really laugh. She smiles sometimes ; not a pleasant smile either, but a scornful smile like. I say Minnette," she added, raising her voic©, " what is the icason you never laugh ? ' "None of your business," rudely replied Minnette. "The Lord never intended her face for a smiling one," said Miss Hagar, breaking in, suddenly. "And you, you poor little wild eaglet, who, a moment ago, boasted you had never wept, you shall yet shed tears of i:} -M J • 4 (J f r;-*; •I I i ( I .1 1^1 ''■'I J m ' l .i l UJl-UJUL-u . t« MISS HAGAM. 51 v\:^ i! \v.\ I % blood. The bird has its eyes put out with red-hot iron before it can be mride to sing sweetly ; and so you, too, poor bird, musL be blirided, even though you should flut« ter and beat \ ourseif to death, trying to break through ♦.ii« bars of your cage." *' Humph ! I'd like to see them trying to put my eyes fsjit/' said Gipsy. ''I guess I'd make them sing, and on the wrong side of their mouths, too — at least, I think I should !" "Oh, Miss Hagar, tell us our fortunes — you haven't done so tliis lontj^ time," exclaimed Archie, jumping up. "Here is Gipsy wan^s to know hers, and Celeste's, too; and as for me. I kno r the future must have something splendid in store for so clever a fellow, and I'm anxious to know it beforeliand." " Don't be too anxious," said Miss Hagar, fixing her gloomy eyes propuctically on his eager, happy face ; "troubles are soon enougli when they come, without wishing to forestall them." Why, Miss Hagar, you don't mean to say I'm to have troubles?" cried Archie, laughing. "If they do come, I'll laugh in their face, and cry, 'Never surren- der.' I don't believe, though, my troubles will be very heavy." " Yes, the heaviest troubles that man can ever know jhall be thine," said the oracle, in her deep, gloomy ?ou;e. "The day will come when despair, instead of laughter, will fill your beaming eyes; when the smile ihall have left your lip. and the hue of health will give place to the djsky %\o \' of the grave. Yes, the day will ;omc when the wrong you may not quell shall cling to yoii like a garment of flame, crushing and overwhelming you and all you love, in its fiery, burning shame. The day will come when one for whom you would give your life shall desert you f:>r your deadliest enemy, and 1< MTSS TTAGAR. 97 fou to despair n,n(i woe. Such is the fate I have read in the stars for you." ** La I Archie, what a nice time you're going to have/ saiJ ihe incorrii^iblc Gipsy, breaking the impressive silence that foilowcd the sibyl's words — "when all that romes to pass I It will be as good as a play to you." '• Miss Hagar must have sat up ail last night getting that pretty speecli b}'- heart," said Minnette, fixing her mocking black eyes on t!ie face of the spinster. " How v/ell she repealed ii ! She'd make her fortune on the stage as a tragedy queen." " Scoffer !" said the sibyl, turning her prophetic eyes on the deridin;>: lace of the speaker, while her face dark- ened, and her stern mouth grew sterner still. "Oneday that iron heart of iJiine sh;i,il melt ; that heart, which, as yet. is sealed with granite, shall feel every fiber drawn out by the roots, to be cast at your feet quivering and bleeding, unvalued and unoared for. Come hither, and let me read your future in your eyes." " No, no !" said Minnette, shaking back, scornfully, her glossy black hair. ''Prate your old prophecies to the fools who belij. ve you. I'll not be among the num- ber." '* Unbedever, I heed it not !" said Miss Hagar as she rose slowly to her teet ; and the light of inspiration feathered in her eyes of gray, as, swaying to and fro, sh« chanted, in a wild, dirge-like tone * '* Beware 1 beware 1 for the time will com**— A blighted heart, a ruined hom«. In the dim future I foresee A fate far worse tnan death for thee.** f: '''V ■V. 'hi ■f1 I i' ! i.. I r'^ ii '■•] 'Pi 1 "in Her eyes were still riveted on the deriding face and bold, bright eyes, that, in spite of all their boldness^ quailed before her steady gaze. hJM iii'^'iiii I' 1 1 - i' '^i ;i '"S M« 1 II-,.; i' ^i ft iWAS'.S HAGAR. " Good- gracious, Miss Hagar, :f you haven t ncarlj frightened this little atomy into fits!" said Gipsy. "1 declare, of all the little cowards ever ivas, sne's the great est ! Now, if I thought it wouldn't scare tne life oul of her, I'd have my fortune told. If everybody else is gf. iiig to have such pretty things happen to them, I doL.*t se^ why I shouldn't, too." " Come here, then, and let me read thy fate," said Miss Hagar. " The spirit is upon me to-night, and it may never come more." "All right. Archie, stop grinning and 'tend this little scary thing. Now, go ahead, Miss Hagar." The seeress looked down solemnly into the dark, piquant little face upturned so gravely to her own ; into the wicked brown eyes, twinkling and glittering with such insufferable mischief and mirth ; and, bending her tall body down, she again chanted, in her dreary tone : "Thou wast doomed from thy birth, oh, ill-fated child ; Like thy birthnight, thy life shall be stormy and wild ; There is blood on thine hand, there is death in thine eye And the one who best loves thee, by thee shall he die /" -'Whew^! if that ain't pleasant! I always knew I'd be the death of somebody !" exclaimed Gipsy. " Won- der who it is going to be ? Shouldn't be s'prised if 'twas Jupiter. I've been threatening to send him to Jericho ever since I can remember. La ! if it comes true, won'i Minette, and Archie and I be in a * state of mind* one cA these days ! I say, Celeste, come over here, and let':; have a little more of the hc"rible. I begin to like it." " Yes, go, Celeste, go said Archie, lifcing her oil her seat. But Celeste, with a stifled cry of terror, corered her iace with her hands, and shrank back. nenrlj y. "I great out Vii HrrSS ffAGAR. ff *' Coward !' ex claimed Minnette, with a scornful flash of her black 6305. *' Little goose !" said Gipsy, rather contemptuously ; " what arc you afraid of ? Go I it won't hurt you." "Oh, no, no! — no, no! — no. no I" cried the child, " It's too dreadful. I crouching farther back in terror can't listen to siicli awful things." ** Let her stay," said Miss Hagar, seating herself moodily. *' 1 ime enougii for her — poor, trembling dove ! — to know the future when its storm-clouds gathe;* darkly over her head. Let her alone. One day you may all think of my words to-night." '* There ! there ! don't make a fool of yourself any longer, Hagar," impatiently broke ir the doctor. " Leave the little simpletons in peace, and don't bother their brains with such stuff." " Stuff !" repeated Miss Hagar, her eyes kindling with indignation. " Take care ; lest I tell you a fate more awful still. I speak as I am inspired ; and no mortal man shall hinder me." " Well, croak away," said her brother, angrily, "but never again in my presence. I never knew such ao old fool !' he muttered to himself in a lower tone. He started back almost in terror, as he ceased ; for standing by his side, with her eyes fairly blazing upon him wifh a wild, intense gaze, was the elfish Gipsy. She looked so like some golden sprite — so small and dark, with such an insufferable light in her burning eyes — that he actually shrank in superstitious terror from her. Without a word, she glided away, and joined Archie in the corner, who was doing his best to cheer and amuse the timid Celeste During the rest of the evening, Gipsy was anusually silent and still ; and her little face would at times wev a puzzled, thoughtful, look, all unused to it 1 » 'II It! 3 -•1 1 4 '■''■ .r 'i i: '-1 ! Vvn i r\ /'^ ' ! ,in' .,,,,1, , -.,H '.:\\ ■ K; ■•.i'\ -u -It 1v' 1 1 , - • ■■li • A A ■> '^ \ ■ -f ^■t *'".: . :'i ) ■ '. ; ' 4 ■.4 L ifl (■' Jflj ''■!m ' ' '^'i^l -''■^^^1 '-di '^'^ -J ^^H loe JIfISS BAGAJH. ' '' ! >■' ■•*■ t t u % 1J;;'i I'i ' I I r i '■ ! 1 i ■ I j^' •M ! i * What in th6 world's got into you, Gipsy V Asked Archie, at length, in surprise. " What are you looking fo solemn 5ibi)ut ?" ''Archie," slie said, looking up solemnly in his face, '*»m I possessed f "Possessed! Why, yes, I should say you were- - possessed by the very spirit of mischief !" " Oh, Archie, it's not that. Don't you know it telli in the Bible about people being possessed with demons* Now, Archie, do you think I am ?" " What a question ! No ; of course not, you little goose. Why ?" "Because when >^ce you haven't * shuiBed oil this mortal coil' yet, as J^ouis says. I suppose you got a blowing up last nis^iit, tor coming home without me, eh?" *' Miss Roarer, honey, for mussy sake, don't 'front mas'r to-day," exclaimed Jupiter, with upraised hands and ey es ; "dar'siio tellin' what he might do, chile. I 'vises you to p^o to bed an' say you's sick, or somofin, caze he'd jes' ;vs lief kill you as not, he's so t'arin' mad." "Nonsense, y )U old simpleton! Do you think I'd •tell sucli a lie ? Let him rage ; I'll rage too, and keep him in countenance." " Miss Roarer, if you does, dar'll be bloodshed, anJ den I'll be took up for all — I knows dar w.ll,'* said poor Jupiter, in a whimpering tone. " Dis comes' o' livin' with ladies what ain't ladies, and old gen'lemen what's got de old boy's temper in dem." " Why, you old good-for-nothing, do you mean to •ay I'm not a lady '" exclaimed Gipsy, indignantly. ft r«,|' J ■'r!i Si 1,1 ■•'<■>. . i' ' ^4 ■ 1, : 'vn: I,,,. I I t. "■■I » ' j I 192 GIPSY OUTWITS THE SQUIRM, " Jcs* so, Miss Roarer, T don't care cf ycr docs whip mc — dar ! S'posc a lady, a r/;al lady, would go for to «hcl I'll conie to you, my lad ; Thouj^Ii Guurdy anJ aimty, an' a' should go mad, Just whistle ai»' I'll come to you, ray lad." " Gipsy, Gip^y, husli, child ! Your guardian is dread fully angry with you, and Vv^ill punish you very severely I'm afraid," said 31 rs. Gowcr, suddenly appearing from the dining-room. " This reckless levity will make mat- ters worse if he hears you. Oh, Gipsy, how could you :io such an outrageous thing ?" *• La, auniy I I haven't done any outrageous thing' tbat I know of." " Oh, child ! you know it was very wrong, lery wrong, of you, indeed, to stay at Deep Dale all night againit hit express comraands." GIPSY OU TV/ITS THB SQUIRM. i»j ff! ' Now, auufy, I don't see anything ^ery wrong \X. all •tout it. I orJy wanted to have a little fun." "Fun ! Oh ! you provoking little goose I he'll pun- ish you very severely, I'm certain." "Well, let him, then. I don't care. I'll pay him oS for it some time — sec if I don't. What do you s'pos»« he'll do to me, aunty ? Have me tried by court-martial. or hold u coroner's inquest on top of me, or whit ?" " He is going to lock you up in that old lumber-room, up in the attic, and keep you there on bread and water, he says." "Well, now, I'll leave it to everybody, if that isu'i barbarous. It's just the way the stony-hearted fathers in the story-books do to thei/ daughters, when they lali in love, and then their beauo come, filled with love and rope ladders, and off they j^-o through the window. 1 oay, aunty, is there any chajue lor me to get thioug'n the window ?" "No, indeed, they jiO fastened outdde with wooden shutters and iron boi^.-. There is no chance of escape, 80 you had best be very good and penitent, and beg his pardon, and perh.tpi he may forgive you." "Beg his paif^iOn ! Ha ! ha! ha! aunty, I like that wouldn't Archie iaugh if he heard it. Just fancy me, Gipsy Gowei, down on my knees before him, whimper- ing and snufflii^g, and a tear in each eye, like a small potato, and begging his serene highness to forgive me, and I'll never do it again. Oh ! goodness gracious, just fanc}^ what a scene it would be !" " You pjovoking little minx I I am sure any otHei little girl would beg her guardian's pardon, when she knew she did wrong." " Piu I dont know that I've did wrong. On the con- trary, J nfiow Tve did rights and I'm going to do it ovct again 'c.c. O/Qt chance — there !" r vl! \ '■ 1' C'til f '4 ■I Hi m '> ^ *;i t \\ ^ Ui lit l«4 GIPSY OUTIVJTS THE SQC^IJfM, * i k ■ < -I '. 1 s i '*Oh. Gipsy !— child — yoiia;e perfectly incorrgiblc. I desp:iir of ever beiiii? able to do anything with you. As I toll! yoii before, I shouldn't be surprised if ycui g'iardii:i turned yv)U out of doors for your conduct." "And a< 1 io\d you before, aunty, I would not want bci- ier fun. Aicliic Rivers is going to West Point soon, ar.d Til go wi:h him and * do my country some service' in the next war." "If he turned you out, Gipsy, it would break my hearr," said Mrs. Gower, plaintively. " Ves, and 1 ^ uppose it would break mine too, but I luckily dou't li.ippcn to have a heart," said Gipsy, who never by any chance could, as she called it, "do the sen- timetual." " However, aunty, let's live in the sublime hope ih.it you'll bro'il>: the necks of two or three hundred chickens and geo^e, before you break your own heart yet. And 1 procest, here comes Guardy, stamping and fumini^ up tiie huvn. Clear »)(»t, aunly, for I expect he'il hu'l the whole ul' the Proverbs of Solomon at my head, and one of 'em might chance to hit you. Go, aunty, I want to fight m\ own battles ; and if I don't come off with drums beating and colors Hying, it'll be a caution ' Hooray I" And Glpjv v.aved her plumed hat above her head, • nd whirled round the room in a defiant waltz. She ua3 suddenly i»iterriipted by the entrance of the :quire, Avho, xhrusrlng both hands into his coat pockets, stood tlaming with rage before her; whereupon Gipsy, plunging her iiands into the pockets of her riding-habil, planed both feet firmly on the ground, and confroiuej him with a dignified frown, and an awfal expiession oi countenance generally, and to his amazement, burst out with: " You unprincipled, abandoned, benighted, befud died old gentleman ! how dare you have the impudence the effrontery, the brazeiniess, the iniperLinencc, the — the — evoryihitiQ^-clse ! to show your face to me ufte- your oiitragccus, your uiiheiiicJ-of, your m )nstrous, your — yc3, I will s.'iy it — di.'ibolical conduct yesterday ' Vcs, sir! I repeat it, yir — I'm amazed at your ellrontciv, after scndiiiy; a poor, unfoiuiiiale, frieiulless, degenerate son ot Africa throiic^h ihe tremendous ndn, the roariaj; liglitninf^, the fl:ishinie little wretch ! You incarnate little fiend, you! You impisli little imp, you! I'll thrash you within an inch of your life !" roared the old man. purple with rage. '* Look out, Guardy, you'll completely founder the English language, if you don't taKC care," interrupted Gipsy. "You impudent little vixen ! I'll make you repent yesterday's conduct," thundered the squire, catching her by the shoulder find shaking her till she was breath- les-s. "Loo — loo — look here, old gentleman, do — do — don't you try that again !" stuttered Gipsy, panting for breath, and wrenching herself, by a powerful jerk, free from hif grasp. " Wiiy didn't you ccme home when I sent for you ' Answer me that, or I won't leave a sound bone in youi body. Now, then !" •• Well, Guardy, to tell the truth, it was because I didn't choose to. Now, then !" '* You — you — you incomparable little impudence, I'!! fairly ^nurder you !" shouted the squire, raising his hind In his rage to strike her a blow, which wouid af«urcd'jr ': tf I' « f' > r m •1' I .. t )''^ f" • J i' ■ 'MM i^m I ( '. i It io6 Gil's y OUTIVJTS THM SQUIRR. have billed her ; but Gipsy adroitly dodged, and his haad fell with stunning force on the hall table. With something bet^veen a howl and a yell, he started after her as she ran screaming with laughter ; and seiz- ing her in a corner, where she had sunk down exhausted and powerless with her inward convulsions, he shook iier until he could shake her no longer. " I'll lock you up ! ril turn you out of doors ! I'll thrash you while I am able to stand over you ! No, 1 won't thrash a woman in my own house, but I'll lock you up and starve you to death. I'll be hanged if I don't !" " You'll be hanged if you do, /ou mean." " Come along ; we'll see what effect hunger and soli- tary confinement will have on your high spirits, my lady," said the squire, seizing her by the arm and dragging her ilong. " Guardy, if you do, my ghost '11 haunt you every QJght, just as sure as shooting," said Gipsy, solemnly. * What Jo I care about you or your ghost ! Come along. ' The unrighteous shall not live out half their days,' as Solomon says ; therefore it's according to Scripture, and no fault of mine if you don't live long." " Solomon v.as never locked up in a garret," said Gipsy, thrusting her knuckles in her eyes and beginning to sob, "and he don't know anything about it. It's real hatefnl of you to lock me up — now ! But it's just like fou, you always were an ugly old vrctch every way.' ^ob, sob, sob. " That's right, talk away ! You can talk and scold as much as you like to the four bare walls presently," said the squire, dragging her al©ng. " You're a hateful old monster I wish you were far Ciiough — I just do ! and I don't care if I'm taken up for defamation of character — so, there ! Boo, hoc — a hoo— * ■fe: GIPSY O 'J TWITS THE SQUIRE, 107 a hoo, sobbed, and wept, and scolded Gipsy, as the squire, inwardly chuckling, led her to her place of cap- tivit) They reached it at length ; a large empty room with- out a single article of furniture, even without a chair. It was quite dark, too, for the windows were both nailed up, and the room was situated in the remotest portion of the building, wh'^re, let poor Gipsy cry and scream as she pleased, she could not be heard. ()u entering her prison, Gipsy ceased her sobs for a moment to glance around, and iier blank look of dismay at the aspect of her prison, threw the squire into a fit of Iauy;iiter. " So," he chuckled, *' you're caught at last. Now, here you may stay till night, and I hope by that time I'll have taken a little of the mischief out of you." "And I'll have nothing to pass the time," wept Gipsy *' Mayn't I go down stairs and get »- book ?" "Ha! ha! ha! i\o, I rather think you mayn't. Perhaps I may bring you up one by and by," said the squire, never stopping to think how Gipsy was to read in the dark. "Look up there on that shelf, I can't reach; there's one, I think," said Gipsy, whose keen eye had caught sight of an old ncv/spapcr lying on the spot indicated. The squire made a step forward to reach it, and like an arrow sped from a bow, at the same instant^ Gipsy darted acioss the room, out through the open door. Eic the squire could turn round, he heard the door slam to, and he was caught in his own trap, while a triumphant shout, a delighted " hurrah !" reached h*s ear from with- out. The squire rushed frantically to the door, and shook, and pulled, and swore, and threatened and shouted, to all of which Gipsy answered by tantalisiagly aaking bixa 1;: ■ ' \ ■ ■ ■ ♦■'Cil ,i.ii ':i 1' -r. 4 '\i '1 'fl 1 Ji IIS ■ 1, * •!■ pft through her taper fingers. Sob after sob swelled die bosom of the sensitive child, on whose gentle heart tiie cruH words of Minnette had fallen with crushing weighu Dr. W'.MrSBac ifter a few moment?;, too, left the room, ijid Celeste, in her ^^rk ctyrne-r, wepi unseen and uncared for. Suddenly a light footstep entering the room startled THE TIGRESS AND THE DOVE, iii her. Her hands were gently removed from her tcmr- stained face, while a spirited voice exclaimed : " Hallo ' Sissy ! what's the matter? Has that kite li:3rt, Minnette, been mocking you ?" " No-o-o !" faltered Celeste, looking up through her itrars into the bright face of Archie Rivers. " What's the case, then ? Something's wrong, I know Tell me, like a good little girl, and I'll see if I cam help you," said Archie, resolutely retaining the hands with which she struggled to cover her face. •* Miss Hagar wants to send me to school, and I've no one to go with. Minnette doesn't like to be troubled with " "Oh, I see it all ! Minnette's been showing her ac- gclic temper, and wo/i't let you go with her, eh ?'* "Ye-e-es," sobbed Celeste, trying bravely not to cry. " Well, never mind, birdie ! I have to pass the Sisters' school every day (yn my way to the academy, and I'll take care of you, if you'll go with me. Will you ?" he said, looking dour/fully into her little, shrinking face. "I--I think Ro," said Celeste, rather hesitatingly. "I will be a trouble, though, I'm afraid." "Not you !" exclaimed Archie, gayly. "1*11 be youx true knight arid champion now, and by and by you'll be t ■ '■ ■'!^ {■cm m ■1 1 A l',- wmfmmmim if k i w, *'■ 1 II I f t ''' '* 'iiu ^i::i :. I ¥ I lit T^£ TIGRESS AND THE DOVE. lit school ? I'll 'lend to her as carefully as if chc v/.^s my daui];hter. Sec if T don't." A j^ririi sort of smile rehixed the rigid mascles oi Miss Ua'^:ir's iron face as she glanced bengnly at hi:, merry, thouL^htless face over the top of her spectacles ** Vcs she may 12:0 with you, and the J^ord will blei^s ut with Archie UiX school. How pretty she looked in her white muslin dress, her white sunbonnct covering ber golden curls- -a perfect little pearl I Archie, having paid her a sliower of compliments. to;>k her by the hand and set out witl. her for Sunset Uall At the gate Celeste halted, and no persuasions V.A6 Induce her to enter. " No, no ; I'll wait here until you come back. Please \t\ me," she said, pleadingly. 'Oh, well, then, I won't be long," said Archie, rush- ing frantically up the lawn and bursting like a whirlwind into the hall dcx^r. In a few moments he reappeared, accompanied by Louis. " Look, old fellow ! there she is at the gate. Isn't she a beauty.^" said Archie. Louis stopped and ga/ed, transfixed by the radiant vision before him. In her tioaiing, snowy robes, golden hair, her sweet, angel-like face, on which the morning sunshine rested like a glory, she was indeed lovely, be- wildering, dazzling. " How beautiful ! how radiant ! how splendid ! Archie, she is as pretty as an angel !" burst forth Loui% impetuously. " Ha, ha ha ! a decided case of love at first sight C-ome along and I'll introduce you," exclaimed Archie. Having presented the admiring Louis to Ceieste, who, after the first shy glance, never raised her eyes, ho Informed her that Gipsy had gone out riding early in he morning, and they were forced to go without her. "Celeste, you must sit to me for your portrait," ssid Lo:ii8, impulsively, as they walked along. ^ I don't know," said Celeste, shrinking closer t« ■J \ ifl (■ » k \ ,, \ \ %\ 71 ' -til -4 ■i h^i 'itf K'ii ■..if:. ■ m "Mi ij- II n-r-i 114 THE TIGRESS AND rHE DOVE. \4 ' I t 4 \y..\' in \ ■ *4 i t 1 J,' 1 1' ,1 l^ Archie, wliom she had learned to trust in like an old friend. "I'm sketching the 'Madonna in the Temple' foi Sister Mary, and your sweet, holy, calm face will do ex- RCtly for a model," said Louis. " That's a compliment, sis," said Archie, pinching her check ; " vou'd better sit. Hallo ! if that isn't Gip'sy's buL;lc ! And here she comes, as usual, flying like the wind. If she doesn't break her neck some day, it will be a wonder." As he spoke, the clear, sweet notes of a bugle re- sounded musically amons^ the hills above them ; and the next moment the spirited little Arabian, Mis^nonne, came dashinc: at a break -neck pace down the rocks, with Gipsy on his back, a fowling-piece slung over her shoul- der, and sittinc: her horse as easilv as though she were in an easy-chair. Witli a wild " tally-ho !" she cleared a yaw^ning chasm at a bound, and reined her horse in so suddenly that he nearly fell back on his haunches. The next instant she was beside them, laughing at Celeste, who clung, pale Vv'ith fear, to Archie. " What lurk this morning, Diana ?** exclaimed Archie. " Pretty well for two hours. Look !" said Gipsy, displaying a well-filled game-bag. " Hid you kill those birds ?" inquired Celeste, lifting her eyes in fear, not unmixed with horror, to the spark- Hog face of the young huntress. ** To be sure ! There ! don't look so horror-struck I declare if the little coward doesn't look as if she thought me a demon," said Gipsy, laughing at Celeste's sorrowful face. " Look ! do you see that bird away up there, like a speck in tne «ky ? Well, now watch mi bring it down ;" and Gipsy, fixing her eagle eje on ibt diitant speck, took deliberate aim. ;l THE TIGRESS AND THE DOVE, 115 \d *'Oh, don't — don't!" cried Celeste, in an agonj of terror ; but ere the words were well uttered, they were lost in the sharp crack of her lit:le rifle. Wounded and bleeding, the bird began rapidly to fall, and, with a wild shriek, Celeste threw up her arms, and fell to the ground. *' Good gracious ! if I haven't scared the life out of Celeste !" exclaimed Gipsy, in dismay, as Archie raises her, pale and trembling, in his arms. " What a timid little creature !" thought Louis, as he watched her, clinging convulsively to Archie. " Oh, the bird ! the poor bird !" said Celeste, burst- \:% ^'^^ ^"^'^^ tears. Gipsy laughed outright, and pointing to a tree near at hand, said : '' There, Louis, the bird has lodged in that tree ; go and get it for her." Louis darted off to search the tree, and Gipsy, stoop- ing down, said, rather impatiently : "Now, Celeste, don't be such a little goose! What harm is it to shoot a bird ? — everybody does it." " I don't think it's right ; it's so cruel. Please don't do it any more," said Celeste, pleadingly. " Can't promise, dear? / must do something to keep me out of mischief. But here comes Louis. Well, is it dead :" "No," said Louis, "but badly wounded. However, I'll take care of it ; and if it recovers, Celeste, you sh^' I have it for a pet." " Oh, thank you ! you're i^ good," said Celeste, giving him such a radiant look of gratitude that it quite over- came the gravity of Master Rivers, who fell back, roar- ing with laughter. Celeste and Gipsy stood a little apart, conversing, tad the boys sat watching them. > f ■ ! I'd i^ I ! \ • i i !, 1 ! : 1 .. ,1 i '1 I M 1 1 ; I •M ■1; I /in' • M ''ill ■4 ■ - '■( ■ '■■ 'M M ■ ^ JSi 116 THB TIGRESS AND TBB DOVJL kS '' 'i \ .1 ' 1;'. **T say, T.otiis, what do you think of her Y* said Afrhie, pointing to Celeste. "I think slie is perfectly bewitching — the loveliest creature I ever beheld, ' replied Louis, regarding her witii the eye of an artist. " She reminds me of a lily— a dove, 80 fair, and v/iiiic:, and j^entle." *• And Gipsy, what does she remind you of ?** " Oh ! of a yo!»ng Amazon, or a queen eaglet of the mountains, so wild and untamed." "And Minneuc, what is she like?" " Like a tiffress, more than anything else I can think of just now," said Louis, laughing; *' beautiful, but rather dan-serous wlien aroused." "Aroused ! I don't think she could be aroused, she ii made of marble." " Not she. As Miss Hajjar says, the day will come when she will, she must feel ; every one does sometime in his life. What does Scott say : ** ' Hearts arc not flint, and flints are rent | Hearts ar« not steel, and steel is bsat*" ** Well, if you take to poetry, you'll keep us here all day,** said Archie, rising. " Good-bye, Gipsy ; come along Celeste !" m True to promise, Louis adopted the wounded bird ; lAd under his skillful hands it soon recovered and was presented to Celeste. She would have set it free, but Louis said : • No ; keep it for my sake, Celeste." And so Celeste kept it ; and no words can tell how she grew to love that bird. It hung in a cage in her chamber, and her greatest pleasure was in attending it. Minnette hated the very sight of it. That it belonged to Celeste would have JMcn enough to make her hate it ; Init added ■' i THE TIGRESS AND THE DOVE. 117 to that, it had been given her by Louis Oranmorc. the oily living bciiiu^ Minnettt. had ever tried to please ; uud jealousy adfled tenfold to her hatred. Seeing the bird h;inc:inp:, one day, out in the sunshine, she opened I he ca.';:e-door, and, with the most fiendish aud deliberate malice, twisted its neck, and then, going to Celcbte, pointed iitaph. fiat it's ilace," St rest- ncc of )w, her g out. ut the rs, said I? I'm Go out ndecd. I want 'to her artful Don't \ with which in^ to ? bird St o3e> jrou come here, and tell me you love me ! Begone, you miserable little beggar! I hate the very sight «)l you ! Her face was convulsed with passion. With a cry of terror, Celeste fled from tiie room to weep alone '\\\ her own cliamber, while Minneuc sat by the window, v;atcning the stars come out in their splendor, one b) one, with the germs of that jealousy taking deep root in her soul^ that would grow and bear fruit for ever- more ! CHAPTER XIII. GIPSY ASTONISHES THE NATIVIS. ' What mighty mischief glads her now ?" — Firs Wokshipbm. MONG the villagers of St. Mj»rk's, the mad- headed, wild-eyed, fearless Gipsy Gower was a universal favorite. Not one among them but had received from her warm heart and generous hand some service. The squire furnished his " imp" plentifully with pocket-money, Tphich was invariably bestawed with careless generosity upon the poor of the parish ; but given in a way that orecluded all thanks. Sometimes the door would be thrust open with such violence as :o wake the inmates, thinking a troop of horse was about to fa for them with a visit, and her purse flung into the middle of the floor ; and away she would ride like a flash. But on these occa- sions they were never at a loss to know the donor. If, on her next visit, they began to thank her f tr her ^-Ift. II! '■i! Kt '« mi ISO GIPSY ASTONISHES THE NATIVES. ,;' * ^m ii .V Gipsy indignantly denied all knowledge of it, and posi [ively refused to listen to them. Dr. Wiseman, who was a pretty extensive land-ownetr had sevenil tenants in the remotest part of the village, whom he forced to pay an exorbitant rent, giving them io understand that iinltss they paid it on tiie very day il ciimc due, out they muit go ! One evening, about dusk, Gipsy, who had been ridini^ out, was overtaken by a storm of wind and rain, and sought shelter in one of the cottages. On entering she found the whole family in deep iis- tress. The head of the family sat gazing moodily at the fire : his wife, surrounded by her children, was weeping ; and they, following her example had setup a clamorous cry. "Why, what's up now? What's the matter, Mrs. Brown ?" inquired Gipsy, in surprise. "Oh, Miss Gipsy ! is it you? Sit down. Alas, it's the last time we can ever ask you !" said the woman, with a fresh burst of tears. " Why, are you going to turn me out the next time I oome?" said Gipsy, taking the proffered seat. " Heaven forbid we'd ever turn you out. Miss Gipsy, after all you've done for us !" said the woman ; " b^ after to night we'll no longer have a roof to shelter us " You won't, eh ? Do you intend to set fire to this ox shanty, and burn it down ?" inquired Gipsy. *' No, no ; but Dr. Wiseman was here for his rent (this is pay-day, ycu kuDw), and we haven't a cent in the house to give him. Mr. Brown's been sick mostly all summer, and all we could make it took to feed the nhil- drcn. And now Dr. Wiseman says he'll turn us out, to stance or beg, to-morrow," replied the woman throuo"^ her tears. ** The old sinner !" exclaimed Gipsy, through hei GIPSY ASTOKJSHES the natives. 121 u \. hard-closed t^eth. " Did you ask him to give you cime to pay ?" " Yes, I went on my knees, and begged him to spare us for a few months, and we would pay him every cent , but he ^vouldn't. He said he would give us until to- Diorrov morning, and if we didn't have it then, out we must go." For a rajment Gipsy was silent, compressing her lipa to keep down her fiery wrath, while the woman wept roore passionately than ever. " Have his other tenants paid him ?" inquired Gipsy, at length. *' Yes, all but us." " When did he start for home ?** " Not five minutes ago ?" "Which way did he take ?" said Gipsy, springing^ to her feet, and beginning to examine her pistols. " He went over the hills," said the man at the fire, speaking now lor the first time ; " I heard them say he was afraid to be robbed if he went round by the road, as he had all the money he got from the tenants with mm. "All right, then, Mrs. Browm, my dear woman. Keep up heart ; and if some good fai*-;' gets you out of this scrape, don't say a word about it. Good night." " You had better not venture alone in the stornv" said Mrs. Brown, anxiously ; " one of the boys wiil go with /ou.' * Thank you, there's no necesstiy. I feel safer on Mignonne's back than with all the boys that ever aflSicted the Avorld for its sins for a body-guard. So mind my words, ' hold on to the last,' as the shoemaker said, and don't despair." The last words were lost in the storm of wind and rain, M the opened the door. Soriix^ing on th« back of Mif • I i ! i ■i! ;t: t ■: "''%M ' 1 f'"'" '^ : '.''if' ;. 1 ''i ' ^'-i 1 / V - ' ; 1 -^3 ; '^ 1 < ^ f ■' M i M I'M ff I ^ '^l vr E< i' i¥ I \ 132 GIPSY ASTONISHES THE NATITES, nonne, she turned his head in the direction of the hi .Is. and sped over the ground as rapidly as her fleet-footed Arabian could carry her. Through the night, and wind, and rain, over the dan- gerous hilly path jogged Dr. Wiseman. He scarcely felt the storm, for a talisman ir. the shape of a well-fiDcd pocket-book lay pressed to his avaricious heart. His mare, a raw-boned old brute, as ugly as her master, walked along slowly, manifesting a sublime contempt for storm and wind that would have done the heart of a philosopher good. What her thoughts were about it, would be hard to say ; but her master's ran on money, robbers, highwaymen, and other such " knights of the road." " There are many desperate characters in the village who know I have a large sum of money about me, and who would no more mind waylaying, robbing, and per- haps murdering me, than I would of turning the Brown's out to-morrow. Luckily, however, they'll think I've taken the village road," said the doctor to himself, in a sort of soliloquy, " and so I'll escape them. But this road is a dismal one, and seems just the place for a ren- dezvous of robbers. Ndw, if a highwayman were to step up from behind one of these rocks, and cry -*' " Your money or yo ir life !" cried a deep, sepulchra» voice at his ear, with such startling suddenness that, with an exclamation of horr( ' and fear, the doctor near- ly fell from his seat. Recovering himself, he strove to sec the robber, but in the deep darkness and beating rain it was impos- sible. But though he couldn't see, he could hear, and the sharp :;lick of a pistol distinctly met his ear. " Your money or your life '" repeated the low, hoarse Toice, in an imperious tone. For reply « the doctor, rendered deepente by the fta? h;.ls. ^footed .e dan- parcel}' l-fiDcd His Imaster, ntempt (rt of a )out it, money, of tlie village ne, and nd per- Brovvn's nk I've jlf, in a But this r a ren- were to )ulchra» ss thatf ar ncar- ber, but impos- :ar, and , hoarse be fta; ■5 GIPSY ASTONISHES THE NAlsTBS.xtl of losing his money, drew a pistol and fired. As it flashed, he saw for a tnoment a horse standing before him, but the rider seemed to have Iain flat down, for no man was there. Ere he could draw his second pistol, bis Lorse was grasped b3r the bridle-rein, and the ccld i:ijrzle of a pistol was pressed to his temple, "Your money or your life!" cried a fierce, excited t^oi(e that terror alone prevented him from recognizing. 'Deliver up your money, old man, or this instant you ahali die." *' Oh, spare my life !" cried the wretched doctor, in an agony of terror, for the cold ring of steel still pressed his temple like the deadly fang of a serpent. " Spare my life, for God's sake, and you shall have all ! Tm a poor man, but you shall have it." " Quick, then," vas the imperious rejoinder, as the doctor fumbled in his pockets, and at last, with a deep groan of despair, surrendered the plump pocket-book tc the daring outlaw. •' That is all I have ; now let me go," cried the mis- erable doctor. " Yes ; but first you must solemnly swear never to speak to man, woman, or child of what has occurred to- night. Swear by your own miserable soul !" " I swear !" groaned the unhappy doctor. "And lest you should be tempted to commit perjury, 9*'id break your oath, let me tell you that the very first attem.pt to do so will be followed by instant death. Mind I I will watch you day and night, dog your steps like a blood hound, and if yow dare to breathe .t to living mor- tal, that m(jrner:t .viil be your last." *' I'll never mention it ! I'll never speak of it. Oh, let rac go," implored the agonized Galen. " Vsrv well. then. 1 have the honor to wish fov :' I :i 'I' 'I i I I '' !i » iM .1- i M H 124 GIPSY ASTONISHES THE NATIVES. * h t ■:.' f I *'i :'.(. efood- night. If you Jon't ride straight home, I'll send a bullet through your head." And with this cheering assurance the robber put ti,«rs to the horse, and rode off in the direction opposite to thai leading tc Deep Dale. Little need was there to exhort the terroi -stricken do'tor to ride straight home. Never before had tiie spavined (^Id mare fled over the ground wi*.n the velocity she did that night, and Doctor Wiseman did not breathe freely until he was double-locked in his own room. The Browns paid their rent l.ie next day, and would no longer remain tenants of the doctor. If he suspected any one, the robber's threat caused him prudently to remain silent ; but his wretched look was an unfailing subject of mirth for Gipsy Gower for a month after, and the cunning twinkle of her eye said as plainly as words : " I know, but I won't tell." One day, Gipsy fell into deeper disgrace with the squire than had ever occurred before. In fact, it was quite an outrageous thing, and the only apology I can offer for her is, that she meant no harm. The Bishop of B., Senator Long, and a number of Jistinguished gentleme^i and ladies from the city had come to St. Mark's to ipend a few days. Squire Erlis- ton, as a matter of course, immediately called to see his friends, and i. few days after gave a large dinner-party to which they were all -nvited. The important day lor the dinner-party arrived. Lii zie was up in her room, dressing. Mrs. Gower was su perintending affairs in the dining-room. The squire, io full dress, sat alone, awaiting his friends. As he sat, sleep overpowered him, and unconsciously he sank into A profound slumber. While he was «noring in peace, little drMtminc of tb« u ■■3 I ■■- GIfSY ASTONISaSS TBB NATIVBS. n$ 5! \ J. -rs thai icken the focity [eat he fate awaitins^ him, that little imp of misrlilef, Gipsy, en- tered. One glance suliiccd, and across her fertile brain there shot a demoniacal project of mischief, while hct whole form became instinct, and her wicked eyes scin- tillated with fun. Quiuing the room, sh; returned presently with a box fff lampblack in one hand, and the mustard-pot in the other. " Now, Guardy, you keep still a little while till I turn you into an Indian chief, and here goes for your war-paint." So saying, the little wretch drew a streak of mustard across his nose, following it by a similar one of lamp- black. And so she continued until his whole face was covered with alternate stripes of yellow and biack, scarcely able to repress a shout of laughter as she worked, at the unspeakably ludicrous appearance he pre- sented. Having exhausted her supply of paint, Gipsy stepped to the door to survey her work, and unable longer to re- strain a roar of laugiiter, fled to her room, quivering with the anticipation of the fun to come. Scarcely had she quitted the room when the door was flung open, and, in pompous tones, the servant announced : " De Right Reveren' Bishop of B., de Hon'ble Senator Long and Mrs. Long.** And the whole party, half a dozen in number, enterrd Cue apartment. The noise awoke the squire; and a most musicai snore was mer-^ilessly interrupted, and ended in a hysterical snort. Starting to his feet with an expression of countenance that litterly repud'ated the idea of hif having been asleep, he advanced with extended hand toward the bishop. Thai high functionary drew back I I I t w 1 ! 1" '1 f ■ ^ % WM " 11 it6 GTPSY ASTOmSHES THE NATIVES. ; I !', I <» for a iTJoment aghast, and glancec at his companions ir horror. Human nature could stand it no longer, and a universal sliout of la.ighter resounded through the room. *' Ell ? What ? Lord bless me, what's the matter ? ' s-^id the squire, turning his face from one to another, in- « a» dly wondering if they had all gone mad. " What are fou laughing at T A fresh roar of laughter from the whole party an ijwered this, as they all pressed their hands to their sides utterly unable to stop. Seeing this, the squire at lasJ began grinning with sympathy, thereby adding so much to the ludicrousness of bis appearance, that some threw themselves on the floor, some on chairs and sofas, in per feet convulsions. " What the deure is it?" repeated the squire, at last losing patience " Will you oblige me by telling me what the matter is'" " My dear sir," began the bishop, in tremulous tones. The squire turned his painted face eagerly toward the speaker. In vain he attempted to proceed, it was not in human nature to withstand that face, and the bishop fell back in a paroxysm that threatened never to end. It vvp.s a scene for an artist. The row of convulsea faces around, pausing for a moment breathlessly, but breaking forth louder than ever the minute their eyes again fell upon him. And there sat the squire with his blarrk and yellow face, turning in dismay from one to another, bis round bullet-eyes ready to pop from their sockets. At this moment the door opened and Lizzie, Louis, and Mrs. Gower, followed by all the servants in tlie house, attracted by the noise, burst into the room. The moment their eyes fell on the squire, who had started to his fret to address them, their looks of surprise vanished, and, as if by one accord, shout after shout of laughtci broke from all. In vain did the squire stamp, and fimia \\ GIPSY ASTONTSHSS THM NATIVES, lay and demand to know what was the matter ; his only answer was a fresh explosion of mirth. At last, in despair, Mrs. Gower managed to point to a mirror opposite. The squire rushed frantically to the spot, and then paused, transfixed, aghast with horror, Turning slowly round, he confronted his guests vvitk such a look of blank, utter dismay, that all the lauf^lilc previous was nothing to the universal roar which fcji lowed that despairing glance. Then bursting out with : " It's that fiend ! — that demon incarnate ! — that little Jezebel has done this," he rushed from the room in search of her. Gipsy, attracted by the laughter, had ventured cau- tiously to descend the stairs. The squire perceived her, as like a flash she turned to fly. With one galvanic bound he sprang up the stairs, seized her by the shoulder, shouting : " By Heaven ! I'll pay you for this when they go !" Then opening an adjoining door, he thrust her in, turned the key, put it in his pocket, and rushed out of the house into the yard, where, by the friendly aid of soap and hot water, and some hard scrubbing, he managed to make himself once more look like a Christian. Then, returning to his guests — who by this time had themselves into such a state that they could laugh no longer — he dispersed the servants with sundry kicks and cufis, and proceeded to explain, as well as he was able, how it came about. Politeness forced th'! party to make every effort to maintain their gravity, buj more than once, while seated in solemn conclave round the dinner-table, the recollection of the old man's ludi- crous appeai*ance would pro/e too much for flesh and blood — and, leaning back, they would laugh until the tears stood in their eyes. Their example proving con- tagious, the Mhole party would join in, to the great mor laughed 'i mM ^ J ' lty^/{.Jl X n9^' ill '' ] mn ' ifi i '. i i if I i-'l ■\ ••1*1 fl ) f 1 M i '; ,4 a ..:iJ ! 'i ''' i ' ^ r i 'm \ i ^1 ''m •i '.M ' ^ ill j j'M ^ M \iM j, ' ^*rB ( '' . u'-^^M J ■m 1M ' i ■;:■ ■j ^'".IH -' V'.W ^ IvM I *\im !] ft^^^i V '■' tlH '.'i^^^i ■ ^ fl^H ^■:.:o:ne cllin .>priie in the drirkness beyond "(rood Lord I" nunterrd the squire, wiping the drops of trrror off h"s fare. " What a j>erfert little devil ! Did ever an\'one see such a look on a human face be- fore ' It's mv ooinitjn she's allied to Old Nick, and will oarrv ine oil some niirht in a brimstone of cloud and fire — 1 mean a tire of rIoMd and brimstone. Good gracious ! I'm palpitating like a hysterical girl. I never got such a fright in my li(e. I vow it's a danger to go to bt d with tha: de-.-pi rate little limb in the house, i sliouldn't woiulcr it siie set tlie place on fire al>out oui cars and burned us all i:i our beds, or cut our throats, q\ something. She looked wild and crazy enough lo do it. Well. I reckon, I'll be more careful how I chatise hei for the future, that's certain." So saying, the squire took his night-lamp and wen! oH to bed, taking the precaution to double lock his door, lest the " little imp" should take it into her head to carry bim off bodily dutmg the night. No such catastrophe occurred, however, and when the squire wetu do»vn to breakfast, he found everything going on as usual. I/izzie lay on a lounge, immersed in the pages of a novel, and Louis sat by the window busily sketching, as was liis custom. *' I say, Lizzie, have you seen anything of Gipsy this Bom'ng ?" he inquired, as he entered. **No, papa." 'Td rather think she rode off befort mmj of ui were THIS. MOONLIGHT FLITTING. >U op this morning," said Louis, raising h^s head. ** MIg< nonne «s noi in the stable." Tliis was nulhiii^ unusual, so without waiting fo** her, the family 6aL down to breakfast. But hail an hour after, Tutty came running in alarm o Mrs. Crovver, to say Miss Gipsy's bed had not been 'lept in all night. This fact was self-evident ; and the v/urlhy housekeeper sought out the squire to learn wliether Gipsy had returned home the night before. " Ves, yes, to be sure she did. 'Night brings home all stragglers,' as Solomon says. Why ?" " Because she has not slept in her bed the livelong night." "No!" shouted the squire, springing from his seat, as if some one had speared him. '* Lord bless me ! where can she have gone ?" •' Ah, Squire Erliston, you do not think anything has happened to the dear child, do you ?" said Mrs. Gower, clasping her iiands. "Fiddle-de-dee, woman, of course not. She's gone back to Deep Dale, I'll lay a wager Oh, here comes young Rivers, nosv we'll know." "Archie, my dear," said Mrs. Gowei, as that young gentleman entered the room, "did Gipsy go back to Deep Dale last night ?" " Go back ! Why, of course sue didn't." " Oh, Squire Erliston, you hear that. Oh, where can Jhat crazy creature have gone ?" exclaiiaed Mrs. Gower, twisting her fingers in distress. " Why, what's wrong * Where is Gipsy V* askir^l t .'■^^ ' ;i:;;'l 134 THE MOONUGBT FLTTTTJfG, m or drowned, or shot, or something I 1 alwajs kaew it would happen," and Mrs. G^ower fairly began to cry. " Knew what would happen ?" said Archie, perplexed and alarmed. ''Something or other. I always said it; and now nay words have come true," replied Mrs. Gower sobbing. " Mrs. Gower, ma'am, allow me to tell you, you're a fool !" broke out the squire. " Most likely she didn't feel sleepy, and rode off before you were out of your bed this morning, just like the young minx. Ring the bell, and we'll see what time she started." Archie obeyed, and Totty made her appearance. " Tott," said the master, " be off with you, and send Jupiter here immediately." Totty ducked her wooly head by way of reply, as she ran off, and presently Jupiter made his appearance in evi- dent trouble. " Jupe, you black rascal, what time did Gipsy ride off this morning ?" asked the squire. " Please, mas'r, it warn't dis mornin' she rid off," said Jupiter, holding the door ajar, in order that he might re- treat if his master grew violent. " What do you mean, sir ?" roared his master, in rising terror. " 'Deed, mas'r, I couldn't stop the young wixen — de young lady, I mean — she dor't mind me, no how, she don't/' " Nor anybody else, for that matter," groaned the Bquire, inwardly. *• You see, mas'r, artei she come home, I tuk Minnon inter de stable, and 'gan rubbin' him down, 'caze he was all in a foam she doi.e rid him so hard. WeU, bout half an hour artei, as I was goin' to bed, I hears a noise in di 3rard, an' when I looks out, dar was Miss Gipsy takin' de THE MOONLIGHT FUTTTHG. »3S il >w a in't )ur the horse out again. 'Deed she was, tnas'r, an' fore I could get out she war gone — 'twan't no fault of mine.'* " Oh, Gipsy ! Gipsy !" shcuted t?ie squire, jumping lo his legs and stamping up and down the floor in an agony of remorse and sorrow. " And I've driven you from home, old monster that I am ! I'm a brute ! an alligatoi ! a crocodile ! a wretched old wretch ! a miser* able, forsaken old sinner ! and I'll knock down any man that dare say to the contrary ! Oh, Gipsy, my dear little plague ! where are you now ? My darling little wild eaglet ! friendless in the wide w^orld !" Here catching sight of Jupiter still standing in the door- way, he rushed upon him and shook him until the unfortunate darkey's jaws chattered like a pair of castanets. " As for you, you blark rascal ! I have a good mind to break every bone in your worthless skin. Why didn't you wake me up, sir, when you saw her going, eh? Answer me that !" " Mas'r — ma — ma — mas'r," stuttered poor Jupiter, palf strangled, " 'deed de Lord knows I was 'fraid to 'sturb ye. Ma — ma — ma — mas'r " " Silence, sir ! Up with you and mount — let every man, woman, and child in the place be ofE in search ol her. And Mrs. Gowcr, ma'am, do you stop snuffling there. ' No use crying for spilled milk,' as Solomon says. We'll have her home and soundly thrashed before night, or my name's not Magnus Theodoric Erliston. Ha ! there ! Louis ! Archie ! the rest of you, mount and oflE ! And Mrs. Gower, ma'am, do you run out and saddle my horse, and bring him round while I draw on my boots." "Squire Erliston," sobbed the poor old lady, •' joi know very well I can't saddle your horse. Oh, Gipsy ! Gipsy !" she added, with a fresh burst of tears. "Well, fly and tell some of the rest, then. Women arc such worthless creatures — good for nothing but cry- IS6 THE MOONUGMT FLITTING. ing. There they go, with Louis and young Riven at their head, to scour the country. ' In the days when wo went gipsyiug,' as Solomon says. I do believe that little ix iux will be ihe death of me yet — I know she will ! Tm iosing flesh; I'm losing temper; I'm losing cash ! I'm losing rest, and losing patience every day. She'll bring my gray hairs in sorrow to the grave, as Solomon says, only I happen to wear a wig, Ah ! there's my horse. Now for it ! Gipsy Gower, you little torment, you, won't I tell you a piece of my mind when I catch you !" But the squire was destined not to catch her; foi, though they continued the search for the lost one until night, no rrace of her could be found. All that could be learned of her was from '\w innkeeper in a neighboring town, some twenty miles distant. He said a young girl answering the description given of Gipsy hnd arrived there about aaylight, and, after taking a hasty breakfast, had left her horse — which was utterly exhausted by the pace with which slic liad ridden him — and started in the mail coach for the city. Mignonne was led home, and as it was too late to go farther that day the tired horsemen returned, silent and dispirited, homeward. The next day the search was re- newed, and the driver of the mail-coach questioned con- cerning the little fugitive. He could throw but little lignt on the subject ; she accompanied him as far as the city, where she paid her fare and left him. And that was all he knew. Placards were posted up, and rewards offered ; the police were put upon her track ; but all in vain. And at last all hope was given up, and the lost child was re- signed to her fate. One day, about three weeks after her dight, the post' ma/i brought a letter for Mrs. Gower. One glance At the •uperscriptiou, and with a cry of joy she tore it opeiv THE MOONUQtiT FUTTJNG, 137 for it wai in the light, careless hand of Gipsy. It ran at follows : "My Dear, Darling Aunty : — I suppose jiAx. have htid great times up at Sunset Hall since I made a moon- light flitting of it. I wish I had been there to see the fun I suppose Guirdy stamped and roared, and blew up Jupiter, and blejsed lue — after his old style. Well, you know, aunty, I just couldn't help it. Guardy was getting so unbearable there was no standing him, and so I'm going to take Gipsy Gower under my own especial patronage, and make a good girl of her. Don't be angry, now, aunty, because I'll take precious good care of my- self — see if I don't. Tell Guardy not to make a fuss, for fear it might bring on the gout, ana tell him not to keep searching for me, for if he hunts till he's black in the face he won't find me. Remember me to Aunt Liz, and Louis, and Celeste, and — and Archie. Tell Archie not to fall in love with anybody else ; if he doc? he may look out for a squall from your own little Gipsy." This characteristic letter, instead of comforting the family, plunged them into stUl deeper trouble on her account. Mrs. Gower wept for her darling unceasingly, and would not be comforted ; Lizzie sighed and yawned, and lay on her lounge from uKjrning till night, looking irearier than ever ; and the servants went in silence and sadness about their daily business, heaving a sigh and shedding a tear over every memento that recalled poor Gipsy. Now that she was gone they found how dearly they loved her, in spite of all the scrapes and troubles she had ever cost them, A dull, heavy, stagnant silence hung over the man- sion from morning till night. There was nomorebang- in|g^ of doors, and Hying in and out, and w^ and dowa A\-A ill? '■% ■'■4 '■'hi ■ 'fJ m 1 «i-:W 1^8 THE MOONLIGHT FLITTIIfC. mu. Ill 1!. 1 ,1 ■. 1 1 w 1 \ „ stairs, and scolding, and shouting, and singing all in onfl burst, now. The squire was blue-molding — fairly "run- ning to seed," as he mournfully expressed it — for want of his little torment. No one missed the merry little elf more than the lusty old squire, who sighed like a furnace, and sat undis- turbed in his own arm-chair from one week's end to the other. Sometimes Lou's would bring over Celeste, who had nearly wept her gentle eyes out for the loss of her friend, to comfort him, and the fair, loving little crea- ture would nestle on a stool at his feet and lay her golden head in his lap, and go to sleep. And the squire would caress her fair, silken curls with his great, rough hands, and pat her white, dimpling shoul- ders, and turn away with a hall groan ; for she was not Gipsy ! As for poor A/chie, he tock to wandering in the woods and shooting unoffending birds and rabbits, because it was Gipsy's favorite sport, and looked as doleful as though he had lost every friend in the world. " Fall in love with any one else," indeed ! Master Archie scorned the idea, and began to have sundry visions of joining the monks of La Trappe as soon as he grew old enough. This and his other threats of going to sea, of enlisting, of killing somebody, by way of relieving his spirits, kept poor Celeste trembling witli fear for him frorr. morning till night. And in her own gentle way she would put her arms round his neck and cry on h":s shoulder, and beg of him not to say such naughty things, for that Gipsy would come back yet — she knew that f he would. But Minnette, who didn't care a straw whether Gips;^ ever came back or not, would laugh her short, deriding laugh, and advise him to become a Sister of Charity at once. And Celeste said s^ie would be one when she grew THE ''STAR OF THE VALLEY:* 1.^9 tip, artd then she would be always near to comfort him. And Minnette's taunts always sent poor Archie cff to the H'oods in a more heart-brcken state of mind tlian ever before. CHAPTER XV. THE "star of the VALLlY." " Face and figure of a child, Though too calm, you think, and tender, For the childhood you would lend her." — BKOWifXiro. HE winter was now drawing on. The short, bleak November days had come, with their chill winds and frosty mornings. Miss Hagar looked at the slight, delicate form and pale little face of her protegee, and began to talk of keeping her at home, instead of sending her to Sihool during the winter months. Celeste listened, and never dreamed of opposing her wishes, but stole away by herself, and shed the first sel- fish tears that had ever fallen from her eyes in her life. It was so pleasant in school, among so many happy young faces, and with the holy, gentle-voiced Sisters of Charity, and so unspeakably lonesome at home, with nothing to do but look out of the window at gray hil.'s and leafless trees, and listen to the dreary sighing of the wind. Therefore Celeste grieved in silence, and strove to keep back the tears when in Miss Hagar's presence, lest she should think her an iingratef'jl, dissatisfied lit*lo girl. One oioriii^'ng, however, as Miss Hagar entered the :? '9 '■', ?. : ■it ■At i'i i I ■w 140 TIf£ ''STAR OF THE VALLEVr deserted parlor, she found Celeste sitting in the chimney* corner, her face liidden in her hands, sobbing gently to herself. A little surprised at this, for the child seemed always smiling and happy before her, Miss Hagar took wcr on her knee, and asked what was the matter. "Nothing," replied Celeste, though her cheek glowed crimson red, as she felt she was not speaking the truth. '' People don't cry for nothing, child !" said the aged spinster, severely. " Whafsthc matter V* " Please, Miss Hagar, I'm so naughty, but — but — I don't want to leave school." " Don't want to leave school ? Why, child, you'd freeze to death going to school in the winter." " But Minnette goes," pleaded Celeste. " Minnette's not like you, little lily. She's strong and hardy, and doesn't mind the cold ; it only brings living roses to her cheeks ; but you^ little whiff of down that you are, you'd blow away with the first winter breeze." Celeste had no reply to make to this. She only hung down her head, and tried very hard to swallow a choking sensation in her throat. At this moment Archie burst in, in his usual boister- ous manner, all aglow with snow-balling Louis. Mas- ter Rivers seemed in very good condition, notwithstand- ing the loss of Gipsy ; though I rather think he would have been induced to knock any one down who would teil him he had forgotten her. "What! in trouble again, little sis? Who's been bothering you now ? Just give me a hint, and I'll invite them not to do it again." " Why, the little simpleton is crying because I won't let her freeze herself to death going to ochool all win- ter !" said Miss Hagar. " Oh, that's it— is It ? Dry up your tears, then, Birdie ; there's ' balm in Gilead ' for you. Yesterday, TffE 'STAR OF THE VALLETr I4t to Id k that good-natu ed old savac^e, Squire Krliston, hearing me tell Louis that Celeste could not c^o to school owing to the distance, immediately insisted that we should all use his family slcl^h for the winter. Now, Miss Ilagar^ see how those radiant smiles chase her tears away. We'll nestle you uf» in the buffalo robes, and dash off to school with you every morning to the music of the jing- ling sleigh-bells. Eh, puss? won't it be glorious ?" " What's that ?" said Minnette, entering suddenly. " Why, Squire Erliston has given his sleigh up to Pussy here to take her to school, and perhaps we'll take you if you're not cross, though the squire has no partic- ular love for you." " Thank you for nothing," said Minnette, scornfully; "but I wouldn't go if you did ask me. Before I'd be such a baby !" she added, glancing contemptuously at Celeste. And Minnette was as good as her word, positively refusing even the stormiest mornings to go in the sleigh. Archie exhausted all his eloquence, and Celeste pleaded tearfully, offering to stay at home and let her take her place; but Minnette answered all their entreaties by a sullen " I won't." Even when Louis, the only living being to whom her high, stubborn will would bend, pleaded with her to come, she only turned away, and said, in a tone very gentle for her : "No, Louis, don't ask me ; I can't go. Why should I ? I'm no trembling little coward like Celeste. I love the winter ! — yes, twice as well as the summer I The summer is too still, and warm, and serene for me ! But the winter, with its maddening winds and howling storms, and white, frosty ground and piercing cold breeze, sends the blood bounding like lightning through every vein in my body, until I fly along, scarcely touch- iog the ground beneath me ! Louis, walking alont ; ■• .^i ''if ■ ■»,. :, 1 ' ''. \ • ""m '■^1 tr- i4> THE ''STAR OF THE VALLMY: ^1" ill Ihiougii the drifted snow, I feel no cold; but in jour warm 'eigh beside /ler, my heart would feel like ice !" " Strange, wild girl that you are I Why do you di& like Celeste so much ?" "I don't know. I never liked any one in ray Ule— a? least not more than onf:» Do you like her ?" she said lifting her eyes, glancing with dusky fire> to his face. "like her!" he exclaimed, shaking back his shuit, black curls, while his full, dark eye kindled — " like thai lovely little creature I that gentle little dove I that sweet little fairy ! beautiful as an angel ! radiant as a poet's dream ! bewitching as an Eastern hour! ! Like her ! (Jii, Minnette !" She paused for a moment, and fixed her gleaming eyes on the bright, handsome face, sparkling with bo;-- ish enthusiasm ; then, without a word, turned away, and fled from his sight. And from that moment her hatred of Celeste re- doubled tenfold in its intensity. Every opportunity of wounding and insulting the sensitive heart of the gentle child was seized ; but every insult was borne with pa- tience — every taunt and sarcasm met with meek silence, that only exasperated her merciless tormentor more and more. Sometimes Celeste would feel rising in her bosom a feeling of dislike and indignation toward her persecu tor; and then, filled with remorse, she would kneel ir the chapel and meekly pray for a better spirit, and al- ways rise strengthened and hopeful, to encounter her arch-enemy, with her taunting words and deriding black eyes. One last incident, displaying forcibly their different dispositions, and I have done with the children^ Min- nette and Celeste, forever. The Sisters had purchased a beautiful new statue oi 4lie Madonna, and placed it in the refectory until it coul^ TJiE ''STAR OF THE VALLEY, »f i4.i be propeily fixed in tlie chapel. The children were re peatedly lorbidden to enter the refectory while it was there, lest it should accidentally be broken. One day, the Sisters had given a conge^ and their pupils were out playing noisily in the large garden and grounds attached to the convent. Minnette, who never liked to mingle in a crowd, selected three of the boldest spirits present, and proposed they should play " Puss in the corner" by themselves. *' Oh ! we can't here in this great big place," was the .eply ; " besides, the other girls will be sure to join us." '* Let us go into the class-room, then," said the ad- venturous Minnette. " Sister Mary Stanislaur is sweeping out the class- room, and she won't let us," said one of the girls. '* Well, then, there's the refectory," persisted Min- nette. "Oh ! we daren't go there ! Mother Vincent would be dreadfully angry. You know the new statue is there !" said the gi^'ls, aghast at the very idea. "Such cowards !" exclaimed Minnette, her lip curling and her eye i^lashing. " I wish Gipsy Gower were here. Sfu would :iOt be afraid." "/ain't a coward! I'll go!" cried one, following the daring Min^ttte, who had already started for the for- bidden room. I'iie Dthers, yielding to their bolder spirit, followed after, and 3oon were wildly romping in the re- fectory. Suddenly, Minrcile, in her haste, rushed against the shelf where the statut 3;;ood. Down it came, with a loud crash, shivered into a iKoasand fragments. The four girls stooa pale, aghast with terror. Even Minnette's heart for a nio.nent ceased to beat, as sh* gazed on the broken pieces ^f the exquisite statue. It if ! if \{ }> . "A I J M ■■'M > (I ■ f, * I' 1; t ■fi s H 1 i. I )\ I 11 ' f %44 T^E **STAR OF THE VALLBTr was but for a moment ; all her presence of mini! r»< turned, as she breathlessly exclaimed : "Sister will be here in a moment and catch us. Let ns run out and join the other girls, and she'll never know who did it." In an instant they were rushing pell-mell from the room. Minnette was the last, and as she went out he! eye fell upon Celeste coming along the passage. A pro ject for gratifying her hatred immediately flashed across her mind. Seizing Celeste by tlie arm she thrust her into the refectory, closed the door, and fled, just as the Sister, startled by the noise, came running to the spot. She opened the door ! There stood Celeste, pale and trembling, gazing in horror on the ruins at her feet. An involuntary shriek from Sister Stanislaus brought all the nuns and pupils in alarm to the spot. Celeste had entered the forbidden room — had, by some accident, broken the beautiful and costly statue ; that was a fact self-evident to all. She did not attempt to deny it — her trembling lips could franie no words, while the r^o/ cul- prits stood boldly by, silent and unsuspected. Celeste was led away to appear before " Mother Vin- cent," and answer trie heavy charge brought against her. She well knew how it all happened, and could very easily have cleared herself ; but she had just been read ing a lecture on humility and self-denial, and heroically resolved to bear the blame sooner than charge Minnette, " Minnette will hate me worse than ever if I tell," sh« thought; "and I must try and get her to like me. Be- sides, I deserve pur.ishment, for I felt dreadfully bad and naughty, when she made the girls laugh at me this morn- ing. So Celeste met the charge only by silence, and fobs, A&d tears ; and Mother Vincent, leading hor into tbo an THB *'STAR OF THE VALLEVr 145 Sf' r©- clus-room, where all the girls and teachers were assem- bled, administered ii public reproof. ** Had it been any of the other girls," she said, " she would not have felt surprised ; but Celeste was such a go'xlgirl generally, she was indeed surprised and grieved. It was not for the loss of the statue she cared most — though that could scarcely be replaced — but so glaring an act of disobedience as entering the refectory could not go unpunished. Therefore, Sister Mary Joseph would lead Celeste off and leave her by herself until school was dismissed, as a warning to be more obedient in future." And Celeste, with her fair face flushed with shame— her bosom heaving with sobs as though her gentle heart would break — was led away to the now unforbidden re- fectory, and left alone in her deep sorrow. The real cul- prits sat silent and uneasy, starting guiltily when a low, suppressed sob would now and then reach their ear. But Minnette, with her black eyes blazing with triumph, her cheeks crimson with excitement, sat bold and un- daunted, proud and rejoicing in her victory. That evening one of the girls, unable to endure the stings of conscience, went to the Mother Superior and nobly confessed the whole. The good lady listened amazed, but silent. Celeste was released, brought before her, and confronted with Minnette. " Why did you tell this falsehood, Minnette ?" said the justly indignant lady, turning to her. " I told no falsehood, madam," she said, boldly, though her cheek glowed like fire, and her falcon eyj fell beneath the keen, steady gaze of the other. " You acted a falsehood, then, which is quite as bad,*' said Mother Vincent ; *'and I am pained beyond meas- ure to find so artful and w'cked a disposition in one so jroung. And you, my child," she added, drawing Celcita * I Ii '•% \%\ 1:1 •I \ »^ wJll be btjond the power of Minnette." '% 'id '■I ' t: , IVJ '; f ^ ) J if f: !| 1 V 1 148 TJI£ "^STAR OF THB VALLSY.^ " Beyond the power of Minnettc," thought Louis, as he walked homeward. " Will she ever be beyond tho power of that mad girl ? What can have made her hate that angelic little creature so, I wonder?" Ah, Louis ! Ten years from hence will you need to Ask that question ? The indignation of all at Sunset Hall at hearing of Minnette's outrageous conduct was extreme. The squire was sure that " bedeviled tigress wc Id never die in bed." Mrs. Gower's fai bosom swelled with indignation, and even Lizzie managed to drawl out " it was positively too bad." And immediately after hearing it Mrs. Gower ordered out the sicigh, and loading it with delicacies for the little suffcicr, set out for Deep Dale, where she found her raving in the delirium of a brain fever. Days and weeks passed ere Celeste rose from her bed, pale and weak, and frailer than ever. Minnette, with proud, cold scorn, met the reproachful glances of those around her ; and never betrayed, by word or act, the slightest interest in the sufferer. Only once, when Ce- leste for the first time entered the parlor, supported by Louis, did she start ; and the blood swept in a crimson tide to her face, dyeing her very temples fiery red. She turned aside her head ; but Celeste went over, and taking her unwilling hand, said, gently : " Dear Minnette, how^ gl^^d I am to sec you once more. It seems such a long time since we met. Why did you aot come to see me when I was sick ?" *' You had more agreeable company," said Minnette, in a low, cola voice, glaring her fierce eyes at Louis as she arose. " Excuse me," and she passed haughtily from the room. Miss Hagar's Valley Cottage was now ready for her reception ; and as soon as Celeste could bear to be re moved they quitted Deep Dale. Celeste shed a few tears I as tho Lte to of THE ''STAR OF THE VALUtYr 149 «t she bade good-bye to the doctor and Minnette, but they were speedily turned to smiles as Louis gayly lifte 'T m ■m • • m «s» OUR GIFSY. I : I' M , i1 ' I. Mb " CHAPTER XVL OUR GIPSY. " Leaping spirits bright as air, Dancing heart untouched by carSt Sparkling eye and laughing brow, And mirthful cheek of joyous glow.' |N tlie spring Louis and Archie were to go to New York and enter college. The squire, who was dying by inches of the inaction at Sunset Hall, resolved to accompany them ; and Lizk.ie, rousing herself from her indo- lence, also resolved to accompany them. Doctor Wise man intended sending Minnette to boarding-school, and Miss Hagar offered to send Celeste, likewise, if she would go • but Celeste pleaded to remain and go to the Sisters; and as it happened to be just what Miss Hagar wished, she consented. The evening before that fixed for the departure of the boys was spent by them at the Valley Cottage. Archie was in unusually boisterous spirits, and laughed till he made the house ring. Louis, on the contrary, was silent and grave, thinking sadly of leaving home and of part- ing with his friends. Celeste, who always caught her tone from those around her, was one moment all smiles at one gay sally of Archie's, and the next sighing softly as her eye fell upon the grisf-bowed young head of Louis. Miss Hagar sal by the fire knitting, as stiff, and solemn, and grave as usual. " It will be a year— twelve whole months — before we all meet ag^ain,' said Louis, with a ligh. OUR GIPSY, «$« r: ^ Oh, dear !" said Celeste, her eyes filling with tears ; ' it will be so lonesome. It seems to me the time will never pass." " Oh, it will pass — never fear," said Archie, in the confident tone of one who knows he is asserting a fact ; '*and we'll come back young collegians — decidedly fast jroung men — Mirabik diciu — that's Latin — and I'll marry fou, sis. Oh, I forgot Gipsy." Here Archie's face suddenly fell to a formidable length, and he heaved a sigh that would have inflated a balloon. " Oh, if Gipsy were here it wouldn't be a bit lone- some — I mean, not so much. Minnette's going away, too," said Celeste, sadly. " Well, you needn't care for her, I'm sure," said Archie, gruffly. " She's as sharp as a bottle of cayenne pepper, and as sour as an unripe crab-apple. For my part, I'm glad to beoutof the way of her dagger- tongue." " Oh, Archie, please don't," said Celeste, gently " How do you know but she likes you now, after all ?" "Likes me? Oh, that's too good. Hold me, some- body, or I'll split !" exclaimed Archie, going oflE into an inextinguishable fit of laughter at the very idea. Loais rose and went to the door ; Celeste followed him, leaving Archie to recover from his laughter and ex- patiate to Miss Hagar on the pleasures and prospects he hoped to enjoy In Gotham. It was a beautiful moonlight night. The bright May moon shed a shower of silvery glory over the cottage, and bathed them in its refulgent light. " Oh, Louis, what is the matter ?" said Celeste, lay- ing her hand on his arm. " Are you so sorry for leaving home ?" '< I don't care for that, Celeste ; I am torrj to leave I I ,41 I '■I m »5« Or^X GIPSY. I ( '' But it's only for a year. I will be here wHen jtw come back." " Will you, Celeste ?" " Why, yes, Louis, of course I will." " Oh, no, you won't, Celeste. There will be some- thing here taller and more womanly, who will talk and act like a young lady, and whom I will call Miss Peari ^ but the little, gentle Celeste will be here no longer." " Well, won't it be the same with you ?" said Celeste, with an arch smile. " Something will come back taller and more manly, who will talk and act like a young gentleman, and whom I must call Mr. Oranmore, I suppose. But the Louis who brings me pretty books, and calls me ' the Star of the Valley,* I will never sec again." "Oh, Celeste, you know better than that. Will you think of me sometimes when I am gone?" " Oij, yes, always. What a strange question ! Why, I nevei thought of asking you to think of me, though you are going among so many strangers, who will make you forget all your old friends." "You know I couldn't forget any of my old friends, Celeste, much less you. I shall think of you, and Miss Hagar, and Mrs. Gower, and — yes, and poor Gipsy every day. See, 1 have brought you a parting gift, Celeste, for your celestial little neck." So saying, he drew out a little gold chain and cross, and threw it over the graceful neck that bent to reoeiTf it. " Oh, thank you, dear Louis. I shall prize your gift so much. How kind and thoughtful of you I I with I had something to give you in return." "One of your rurls will do." " Will it? Oh, then you shall have it." So saving, she drew out a tiny pair of scissort and OUR GIPSY, 151 [me* land irl, bste, iller •evered a Ic ;ig, shining ring of gold from I er bright .ittlc head. ** Hallo ! what's this ? Exchanging true lovers* to- kens, by all that's tender ! Ha, ha, ha !" shouted Master Rivers, appearing suddenly, and roaring with laughter. " Confound you !" muttered Louis, giving him a shake. 'And now I must go and bid Miss Hagar good-bye. A.rchie, go off and bring the gig round. Celeste, staj^ here ; I'll be with you again in a minute." So saying, Louis entered the cottage, shook hands with the hoary spinster, who bade him be a good boy, and not bring back any city habits. Then going to the door, where Celeste still stood looking on her cross, and closing her eyes to force back the tears that were fast gathering in them, he took her in his arms and said . ** And now good-bye, little darling. Don't quite forget Louis." " Oh, Louis," was all she could say, as she clung to his neck and sobbed on his shoulder. He compressed his lips and resolutely unclasped her clinging arms ; then pressing his lips to her fair brow, he leaped into the gig, seized the reins, and, in his excite- ment, dashed off, quite forgetting Archie, who had lin- gered to say good-bye to Celeste. Archie rushed after him, shouting " Stop thief ! stop thief !" until Louis, discovering his mistake, pulled up, and admitted that wronged and justly-indignant young gentleman. " Now for Deep Dale, to bid good-bye to Minnette and Old Nick," said Archie, irreverently, "and then hie for Sunset Hall." "Yes, poor Celeste," said Louis, with a sigh, evi- dently forgetting he had a companion ; whereupon A.rchie again went into convulsions of laughter, kicking \\ *f ■ m m.u 'mumrmmmrnmrnmumm «S4 OUR GIPSY. A ' ! ■;■ ' •I ' i 1,' « ' .;! ill up his heels and snapping his fingers ii an ectaby of de^ light. Louis found his example so contagious, that- after trying for a few moments to preserve his gravity- he, too, was forced to join in his uproarious mirth. On their arrival at Deep Dale they found the doctor in his study. Louis bade him a fcjrmal farewell ; and having learned that Minnette was in the parlor, he went down to seek her, accompanied by Archie. She sat in her usual attitude, gazing intently out of the window at the cold moonlight. She looked up as they entered, and started violently as she perceived who were her visitors. " Well, Minnette, we've come to bid you good-bye,' said Archie, gayly, throwing his arms round her neck and imprinting a cousinly salute on her cheek. " Good- bye for twelve months, and then hie for home and a happy meeting. Louis, I leave you to make your adieux to Minnette, while I make mine to old Suse, down in the kitchen. Mind, Minnette, don't give him one of your curls, as I saw another little girl do awhile ago, unless he gives you a gold cross and chain in return for it — he gave her one." And with a mischievous laugh, Archie clattered down stairs, taking half the staircase at a bound. She drew herself back and up ; and the hand she had half extended to meet his was withdrawn, as, with a cold formal bow, she said : " Farewell ! I wish you a safe journey and a happy return." " And nothing more \ Oh, Minnette : Is it thus old friends, who have known each other from childhood, ar0 to part ' Just think, we may never meet again !" "/?s soriy to let ne go aa little Celeste was." " Oh, no ; I don't lose so much. I have no books, nor flowers, nor visits, nor gold crosses to lose by your absence," she said, sarcastical.y — her face, that had soft- ened for a moment, growing cold and hard at the men- tion of her name. '' Good-bye Louis, and — I wish you all success and happiness." The hand she ext'jnded was cold as ice. He pressed it between his, and gazed sadly into the clear, bright eyes that defiantly met his own. " Come, Louis, don't stay there all night !" called Archie, impatiently. "Old Suse has been hugging and kissing me till I was half smothered, down there in the kitchen ; and it didn't take her half the time it does you two. Come along." " Good-bye ! good-bye !" said Louis, waving his hand to Minnette, wlio followed him to the door; and the next moment they were dashing along at break-neck speed toward Sunset Hall. The moonlight that nigiit fell on Celeste, kneeling in her own little room, praying for Louis and Archie, and sobbing in unrestrained grief whenever her eye *ell upon the bright gold cross — his parting gift. Appro- priate gift from one who seemed destined to never lay aught but crosses upon her ! It fell upon Minnette, sitting still by the window with a face as cold and white as the moonlight on which ihe gazed. She did not love Louis Oranmore ; but she admired him — liked him better than any one else she knew, perhaps, because he was handsome. But she hated Celeste ; and his evident preference for her kindled up the flames of jealousy m her passionate soul, until she could have killed her without remorse. Tlic next morning the gay party set out for New i 1 -.'1 '.M u. '^{ ij '" I ' ^,« ♦"1 ■<.^, Ivrtiif %m 156 OUR GIPSY, Iff York ; and in due course of time they reached that lity and put up at one of the best hotels. ** Suppose we go to the opera to-night ?" said Lizzie to the qui-e, as she sat — all her languor gone — looking out of the window at the stream of life flowing below, " Just as you like — it's all one to me," said the squiir^ with most sublime indifference. " Then the operp be it," said Lizzie, and the opem, accordingly, it was. And a few hours later found then; cOiiifortably seated, listening to the music, and gazing on the gayly-atiirer' people around them. " How delightful this is !" exclaimed Lizzie, her eyes sparkling with pleasure. " Humph .'—delightful ! Set of fools ! ' All is vanity,' as Solomon says. Wonder who foots the bills for all this glittering and shaking toggery?" grunted the squire. " I've heard them say that the young danseuse^ * La Petite Eaglet,' is going to dance to-night," said Louis * Everybody's raving about her." " Why ? Is she so beautiful ?" inquired Lizzie. " No, I believe not ; it's because she dances so well," replied Louis. At this moment the curtain arose, a thunder of ap- plause shook the house, and La Petite Eaglet hersell stood before them. A little straight, lithe figure, arrayed in floating, gauzy robes of white silver tiisue and crowned with white loses — a small, dark, keen, piquarl face — bright, roguish eyes, that went dancing like light- ning around the house. Suddenly her eye fell on o\xi party from St. Mark's ; a slight starr and a quick re- moval of her eyes followed The applau&e grew deaf- ening as the people hailed their favorite. She iL^owed. The mvjsic struck merrily up, and her tiny feet went glancing, like rain -drops, here and there. She seemed iii i OUR GIPSY. »5r Bty leni floating in air, not touching the ground, as she whirled, and flev/, and skimmed like a bird in the sunshine. The squire was dizzy — absolutely dizzy — looking at her. His head was going round, spinnirg like a top, or like her feci, as he gazed. Lizzie and Loi is were entranced, but Archie, after the first glance, sat with dilating eyes and parted lips — incredulous, amazed, bewildered — with a look of half-puzzled, half-delighted recognition >n his face. Still the little dancer whirled and pirouetted before them ; and when she ceased a shout of applause thuu- dered through the building, shaking it to its center Flowers, wreaths, and bouquets fell in showers around her ; ladies waved their handkerchiefs and clapped their little hands in tlie excitement of the moment. The opera-going world seemed to have gone mad. And there stood the little Eaglet, bowing to the delighted audience, the very impersonification of self-possession and grace. Suddenly, rising as if to speak, she removed the crown of roses from her head. There was a profound, a dead silence, where lately all had been uproar. Every eye was bent in wonder — every neck was strained to see what she was about to do. Taking one step forward, she fixed her eyes on the box occupied by the squire and his family. Every eye, as a matter of ».v»urse, turned in that direction likewise. Raising the wreath, she thre"v it toward them, and it alighted in triumph on the brow of the squire. In a moment she was gone. Up sprang Archie, quite regardless of the thousands of eyes upon him, and wav- ing his cap in the air above his head, he shoated, in wild exultation : <'I knew it! I knew it I Its 9ur G^syl—^i G^^ GnvtrT h I- m m fej m ^4i Ml ''■r. mm ■'■m1 I ist OrPSY'S RETURJf. CHAPTER XVII. gipsy's return to sunset RAU» i! I "This maiden's sparkling eyes Are pretty and all that, sir ; But then her little tongue Is quite too full of chat, sir."— Moout. ^TE effect of Archie's announcement on oiti party may be imagined. Lizzie uttered a stJ.lcd shriek and fell back in her seat ; the squire's eves protruded until tliey seemed ready to burst from their sockets ; Louis gazed like one thunder-struck, and caught hold of Archie, who seemed inclined to leap on the stage in search of his little lady-love. " Let me ^ o into the green-room — let us go before she leaves," cried Archie, struggling to free himself from the grasp of Louis. The crowd were now dispersing ; and the squire and his party arose and were borne along by the throng, headed by Arch'e, whose frantic exertions — as he dug his elbows right nnd left, to make a passage, quite re- gardless of feelingf. and ribs — soon brought them to the outer air ; and ten -r^inutes later — the squire never could tell how — found them in the c-reen-room, among painted actresses and slip-shed, shabby -looking actors. Archie's e) es danced over the assembled company, who looked rather su.-prised, not to say indignant, at this sudden entraiice, ard restfid at last on a straight, slight, little figure, with i^s bock toward them. With one bound he cleared the inL<»r,'«'"»ing space betwixt them, and without waiting to s»y '*hj your leaver* GIPSY'S RETURIf. «S9 clasped hor in his arms, and imprinted a kits upon her cheek. " Dear me, Archie, is that you ? Take cartJ ! you're mussing my new dress dreadfully I" was the astound Ingly cool salutation, in the well-known tones of our little Gipsy. " Oh, Gipsy, how could you do it ? Oh, Gipsy, it wad iuch a shame," exclaimed Archie, reproachfully. At this moment she espied Louis advancing toward her, and accosted him with : " How d'ye do, Louis ? — how's Celeste and Minnette, and Mignonne, and all the rest ? Pretty well, eh ?** " Gipsy ! Gipsy ! what a way to talk after our long parting," said Louis, almost provoked by her indiffer- ence. '* Yju don't know how we all grieved for you. Poor Mrs. Gower has become quite a skeleton crying for her * monkey.' " " Oh, poor, dear aunty I that's too bad now. But here comes Guardy and Lizzie. I don't think Guardy was breaking his heart about me anyway ! He looks in capital condition yet." At this moment the squire came over with Lizzie leaning on his arm. * Hallo ! Guardy, how are you ? How did you like the opera ?" exclaimed Gipsy, in the same tone she would have used had she parted from him an hour be- fore. " Oh, Gipsy ! you little wretch you ! I never thought it would come to this," groaned the squire. " No, you thought I wasn't clever enough ! Just see how easy it is to be deceived ! Didn't I dance beauti- fully, though, and ain't I credit to you now ? I'll leave it to Archie here. Aunt Lizzie, 111 speak to you as soon at I get time. Here comes old Barnes, the manager to kaow what's the matter." f >:■ »»1 \^'\ ■m A m !,ti m ' '"'A , 'ill 'it 1 ■ 1 i SI I'll t i6e G/PS) 'S RETURN. **Oh, Clip-?)', yoii'l! come home with us, my loTt, you really mast," cxcliiiined Lizzie. " Couidn'i, aunty, by no manner of means/' replic i Gipsy, shukiuL? her head. •* Biu. ni be slioi ii you //<«, indeed I Don't y*u wish I may do it ?" " Well, but, my love," said Lizzie, returning to the charge, " though it is too late to repair what you have done, you must be a dancing-girl no longer. You must return home with us to Sunset Hall." " Return to Sunset Hall ! Likely I'll go there to b« abused again! Not I, indeed, Aunt Lizzie; much obliged to you, at the same time, for the offer." '' And I vow. Miss Flyaway, you shall go with us— there !" " And I vow, G uardy, I sha'tCt go with you — there !" " I'll go to law, and compel you to come. I'm your rightful guardian !" said the squire, in rising wrath. " Rightful fiddlesticks ! I'm no ward of yours; I'm Aunty Gower's niece ; and the law's got nothing to do with me," replied Gipsy, with an audacious snap ot her fingers ; for neither Gipsy nor the boys knew how she was found on the beach. *' And is that all the thanks you give me for offering to plague myself with you, you ungrateful little var mint?" " I'm not ungrateful. Squire Erliston !" flashed Gipsy — a streak of fiery red darting across her dark face. " Tm not ungrateful ; but I won't be a slave to come at your beck ; I wotit be called a beggar — a pauper ; I woiit be told the workhouse is my rightful home ; I won*t be struck like a cur, and then kiss the hand that strikes me; No ! I'm not ungrateful ; but, though I'm only a littU girl, I won't be insulted and abused for nothing. I can earn my own living, free and happy, without whining for any one's favor, thank Heaven !" Her little form seemed to tower upward with the con* •citfumess of inward power, her eyes filled, biased, and GTPSY^S RE TURN", »«J ih I the iavr lust |o b« luch dilated, and her dark cheek crimsoned with prcud defi< mce. The squire forg-ot his anp^er as lie gazed in adciiration on the high-spirited little creature standing before him, as haughty as a little empress. Stretching out his arms, he caught her, and seated her on his knee — stroking her short, dancing curls, as he said, in the playful tone one might use to a spoiled baby : "And can't my little monkey make allowance for an old man's words ? You know you were very naughty and raibcliievr.'us that day, and I had. cause to be angry with you ; and if I said harsh things, it was all for your good, you know." "Ail for my good ! — such stuff ! I wish you'd put me down. I'm a youn^if ladv, I'd have you to know ; and I ain't going to be used like a baby, dandled up and down without any regard fc-r my dignity !" said Gipsy, with so indignant an expression of countenance, that Archie — who, as I before mentioned, was blessed with a keen sense of the ludicrous — fell back, roaring with laughter. " Now, Gipsy, my lf*ve, do be zeasonable and return home with us," said Lizzie, impatiently. " I won't, then — there !" said Gipsy, rather sullenly. But the tears rushed into Lizzie's eyes — for she really was very fond of the eccentric elf — and in a moment Gipsy was ott the squire's knee, and her arms round Liz- zie's neck. "Wh)'-, aunty, did I make you cry? Oh, I'm so sorry ! Please don't cry, dear, dear aunty." " Oh, Gipsy, it's so selfish of you not to return witL us, when we are so lonesome at home without you,' said Liszie, fairly sobbing. ^ Yes ; and poor Mrs. Gower will break her heart i- •if ■*■>. wl M m% ", J"; i^: d^ rt lilt ' ' st 166 GIPSY'S RETURN. v^hen she hears about it — I know she will/ said Loui^ In a lachrymose tone. " And I'll break mine — I know I will !" add«^d Archie, rubbing his knuckles into his eyes, and with some diffi- culty squeezing out a tear. •' And I'll blow niy stupid old brains out ; and after thai, I'll break my heart, too," chimed in the squire, in a veiy melancholy tone of voice. "Well I la me! you'll have rather a smashing time of it if you all break your hearts. Whrit'U you do with the pieces, Guardy ? — sell them for marbles ?" said Gipsy, laughing. "There ! I knew you'd relent ; I said it. Oh, Gipsy, my darling, I knew you wouldn't desert your ' Guardy ' in his old age. I kne.v you wouldn't let him go down to his grave like a mistrablc, consumptive old tabby-cat, with no wicked little imp' to keep him from stagnating. Oil, Gipsy, my dear, may Heaven bless you !" "Bother ! I haven't '^aid I'd go. Don't jump at con- clusions. Before I'd be with you a week you'd be blow- ing me up sky-high," " But, Gipsy, you know I can't live without blowing Bomebody up. Vou ought to make allowance for an old man's temper. It runs in our family to blow up. I had an uncle, or something, thai was * blown up' at tne battle of Bunker Hill. Then I always feel alter it as amiable as a cat when eating her kittens. * After a storm there Cometh a calm,' as Solomon says." " Well, maybe there's smething in that," said Gipsy, thoughtfully "And you know, my love," said Lizzie, "that, though A little girl may be a dancer, it's a dreadful life for a young woman — which you will be in two or three years. No one ever respects a dancing girl ; no gentleman evcf would marry you." ^irsy'S RETURN. 167 }i\ |:hie, liffi. in a time rith IPsy, •* Wouldn't they, though !" said Gipsy, so indignantly that Archie once more fell back, convulsed. "If the) wouldn't, somebody 'd lose tlie smartest, cleverest, hand- somest young hidy on this terrestrial globe, though I say it, as * hadn't ougliler.' WcJl, since you all are goiii;; tw commit suicide if I don't jijo with you, I suppose old Barnes must lose tiic 'bright particular star' of his com- pany, and I must return to St. Mark's, to waste mj sv/eetness on the desert air." This resolution was greeted with enthusiastic J^iigbi by all present ; and the night was far advanced before the squire could part with his " little vixen," and allow her to go to rest. Old Barnes — as Gipsy called him — was highly indig- nant at the treatment he had received, and, going to the hotel, began abusing Gipsy and the squire, and every- body else generally ; whereupon the squire, who nevei was noted for his patience, took him by the collar, and, by a well-applied kick, landed him in the kennel — a pleasant way of settling disputes v/hich he haa learned while dealing with his negroes, but for which an over- particular court made him pay pretty high damages. Three days after, Louis and Archie bade them fare- well, and entered college ; and the squire, after a plea- sure-trip of a few weeks, set out for St. Mark's. In due course of time he arrived at that refugium peccatorum . and the unbounded delight wilh which Gipsy was hailed can never be described by pen of mine. Good Mrs. Gower could scarcely believe that hcs darling was really before her ; and it was only when listening to the uproar that everywhere followed the footsteps of the said darling, that she could be con finced. A» for Celeste, not k^cwing^ whether to laugh or jn i^va mm ml m i f m i m .'hi i^ '.ij': r^:}^' i68 GIPSY'S RETURN, [■ '*hj ,1) ' r ■A ;•'•! with joy, she split the difference, and did l>oth. Evc« Miss Hagar's grim face relaxed as Gipsy c&me flashing into their quiet cotiagc like a March whirlwind, throw- ing everything into such "admired disorder," that it gen- erally took the quiet little housekeeper, Celeste, half a day to set things to rights afterward. And now it began to be time to think of completing the education of the two young girls. Minnette had left for school bef(>re the return of Gipsy, and it became necessary to send them likewise. Loath as the squire was to part with his pet, he felt he must do it, and urged Miss Hagar to allow Celeste to accompany her. " Gipsy will defend her from the malice of Minnette, and the two girls will be company for each other," said the old man to the spinster. "Girls must know how to chatter French, and bang on a piano, and make worsted cats and dogs, and all si>r/i f So let little Snowdrop, here, go with my m(3nkey, and I'll foot the bill." Miss Hagar consented ; and a month after found our little rustic lasses — our fair "Star of the Valley " and our mountain fairy, moving in the new world of board* isf •echool. III 11 I ARCHIK iw- len- f a CHAPTER XVIIi AK,^^rllE» mg left " His youthful form was middle lis*, For feat of strength or exercise Shaped in proportion fair ; And dark-blue was his eagle eye, And auburn of the darkest dye His slu)it and curling hair. Light was hi5 footstep in the dance, And firm his stirrup in the lists, And oh ! he had that merry glance That seldom lady's heart resists." — SooTT, IVE years passed. And the children, Gipsj and Celeste, we can never see more ; for those five years have changed them into young ladies of seventeen. Strange to say, neitlier Louis nor Arcliie has met Minnette, Gipsy, or Celeste, since the time they parted to go to college : and with all the change that years have made in their appear- ance, it is doubtful whether they would even recognize one another now, if they mc't. The wav of it was this : Louis and Archie, after the life and excitement of the city, began to think that Sun- set Hall was an insufferably dull place ; and With the usual fickleness of youth, instead of going home to spx^nd their vacation, invariably went with some of their school- fellows. This troubled the old squire very little ; for without Gipsy, in the quiet of Sunset Hall, he was fall- ing into a state of stupid apathy, and gave Master Louis carte blanche to go where he pleased. Lizzie was too in- dolent to trouble herself much about it. and as she gen- erally went on a visit to New York c^ery winter, she con- tented herself with seeing her ton and heir then, and pit; K ,1 170 ARCHIE. •iii^ ^ !< M % kr^winp Ut vas we!l. As for Gipiy and CcJ#t*A '.h«!r faiiixie . jo; over;, seemed to have quite on tfro wp their rari y ;.s^ii-: ion for them. Tli :i, w'' n th^ time came for them to graduate, and make chtice oi a profession, Squire Erlioton found that young Mr. Oranmore would neither be doctor, lawyer, nor clergyman ; nor even accept a post in the army or navy, " Why not," said the squire, dr.ring an interview he had with him ; *' what's your objection?" " Why, my dear grandfather," replied Louis, ** you should have too much regard for your suffering fellow- mortals to make a doctor of me. As for beinc^ a lawyer, 1 haven't rase, ity enouo^h for that yet; and Tve too much respect for the church tc take holy orders. Neither does the camp nor fo.recaf.tlc agree with me. I have no particular love for forced marches or wholesale slaugh- ter ; nor do I care over much for stale biscuit, bilge- water, and the cat-o'-nine-tails ; so I must e'en decline all." " Then what in the name of Heaven «/i//yoube?" cx- Liairaed the squire. " An artist, sir ; an artist. Heaven has destined me for a painter. I feel something within me that tells me I will yet win fame and renown. Let me go to Europe — to Germany and Italy, and study the works of the glo- rious old masters, and I will yet win a nftme you will not ftlush to hear." " Glorious old fiddlesticks ! Go, if you like, bat I never expected to find a grandson of mine such a fool ! The heir of Mount Sunset and its broad lands, the iieir of Oranmore Hall, and old Mother Oranmore's yellow guineas, ran do as he pleases, of course. Go and waste your tinir daubing canvas if you will, I'll be hanged if / ARCHIE, l« eir fer, or he Therefore, six raoiuhs before the return jf the girli from school, Louis, accompanied by a friend, sailed for Europe vvitlnajt seeing them. " And you, sir," said the squire, turning to Ai chic , "artjou going tc be a tool and turn painter, too ?" *• No, sir," replied Master An » : " I'm not going to be a fool, but I'm going to be S(.i:i3t> ig worse — a knave ; in other v/ords, a lawyer. A. Um ^aiming, thank for tune, I've no more talent foi l iK ,n I have for turning milliner, bcyotid painting my tac i when acting charades." So Archie went to VVasI /r n, and began studying for tile bar. Gipsy, who was a universal favorite in school, began, for the last few years, to copy the example of the boys, and spend her vacations with her friends. Minnette and Celeste always returned home ; for Minnette, cold, and reserved, and proud, was disliked and feared by all ; and though Celeste was beloved by everybody, duty and af- fection forbade her to leave Miss Hagar for her own pleasure. Our madcap friend, Gipsy, had lost none of her wicked nor mischief-loving propensities during those years. Such a pest and a plague as she was in the school, driv- ing teachers and pupils to their wits' end with her mad pranks, and yet liked so well. There was usually a downright quarrel, about the time of the holidays, to sec ^ho would possess her ; and Gipsy, after looking on and enjoying the fun, would, to the surprise andchagric of all, go with some one who least hoped for the honor. Gipsy was spending the winter with a school friend, Jennie Moore, at Washington. The three girls, whose united fortunes are the subject of this history, ha*^ grad- uated ; Minnette, with the hii'^hest honors the school could give ; Celeste, with fewer laurels, but with far more love ; and Gipsy — alas, that I should haye to saj it ?— > '11 -< '1 fi I •' \im h'U ii-'f [■"I i** !♦> ml m h' rja tRCfTTR \ i I most wofully behind all. The restless jlt ttMr i oot study — was always at the foot of her class, anc only laughed at the grave lectures of the teachers ; and yawned horribly over the rules of syntax, and the trying names iu. her botany. So poor Gipsy left little better than when she entered. The folding-doors of Mr. Moore's spacious drawing- room werp thrown open, blazing with light and radiant w'th brilliantly-dressed Indies. Mi«s Jennie had resolved tlia: the first ball should surpass anything that had taken place that winter. All ihc <•/// (il •74 ARCHIE, s ilA then ; you're almost handsome now," laid the can jtd Jennie. "Then he won't know me. Jennie, will you oblif:;^e by introducing Mr. Rivers to me under an assumed name ?" " Why •• "Tiieic! there! don't ask questions ; I'll tell bj and by. Go and do it." " Well, you have always some new crotchet in youi crotchety httie iiead," said Jennie, as she started iu obey. In a (e\v niomcnih she reappeared, leaning on the arm of the "distinguished" Mr. Rivers. Our Archie has n(it ciiaiv^cd as much as Gipsy has done during these years, sve that he has grown taller and more manly-looking. He has still his frank, handsome, boy- ish face ; his merry blue eye and boisterous manner, a litiU subdued. The indistinct tone in which Miss Moore introduced him prevented hitn from catching the name, but he scarcely obicrvcd ; and seeing in the young lady, whose lips were now pursed up and whose eyes were cast mod- estly on the floor, a shrinking, bashful girl, he charita- bly began to draw her out. " There is quite an assembly here this evening/* wa« his original remark, by way of encouraging her. "Ves, sir," was the reply, in a tone slightly tr emu > lous, which h^ ascribed to maiden bashfulness. <' What a delightful young lady your friend, Misa Moore, is," continued Archie. " Yes, sir." ** There are a great many beautiful ladies in the room.*' " Yes, sir." *< Confound her I" muttered Archie, ''can the my mil ARCHIK «y5 nothing but 'Yex, sir f But the most be&utifal lady present is by my side," he continued, aloud, to see how she would swallow so palpable a dose of flattery. ' Yes, sir r " Whew ! if that's not cool ! I wonder if the girl's An idiot !" thought Master Archie. Then, aloud : *' Do yo\i know you're very beautiful?" " Yes. I know it." A stare of surprise followed this answer. Then he continued : " Vou are a most bewitching young lady I Never was so much charmed by anybody in my life 1" "Sorry I can't return the compliment.*' " Hallo !" thought Archie, rather taken aback. ' She's not such .'1 fool as I took her to be. What do you think of that lady !" he added, pointing to a handsome but dark-complexioned girl, whom report said would one day be Mrs Rivers. *' Oh ! I don't think her pretty at all — she's such a Archie gave a little start at the name. Poor Gipsy I he had quite forgotten her of late. " Do you know," he said, '' I once had a little friend called Gipsy ? Your words recalled her to my memory. Vou remind me of her, somehow, only you are hand- iimer. She was dark and ugly." " Indeed I Did you like her ?" "Ye-e-e-s — a little," said Archie, hesitaticgly ; "she ivas a half-crazy little thing — bliik as a sqm w, and 1 ion't think I was very fond of h^r^ but che was very fond of me." " Indeed, sir !" said the young lady, a momentary 8ash gleaming from her dark eyes ; "she must have bees t bold girl, rather, to let you know it' 1^' ''Hi f •HI .:l5 .•^»1 l> 'M i!''':i: ir« ARCHIE. "She was bold — the boldest gi-x sver I knew, wi^ nothing gentle aiid womanly ab'jut her whatever." " What (iiil yi>u ^ay her name was ?" "Gipsy — Gipsy Gower. Vou seem interested in her." " I am, sir — I knssessed of a large stock of native impa dence could well do. There he stood and watche(i Gipsy, who had never been so ma^etic, so bewitching •o entrancing in her life before. Never by chance did AlfCH/n, w ihe look at him but tiiore was scarcely auother niascu line head in the :ooni she had not turned. " Confound the little witcii !" muttered Master Archie, ' no wonder she called rue a fool ! But who the deuce would ever think uf finding little Gipsy Gower in one -^f the belles of Washington ? Had it been Celeste, now, i shciild not have felt surprised. And who would evei think that yonder daz/linn^, brilliant, magnetic girl was ♦ he little shy maiden who, ten minutes ago, sat beside mc with her demure 'yeSy sir !' Well, she seems to be en- joying herself anyway. So, Miss Gipsy, I'll follow your example and do the same." For the remainder of the evening Archie threw him- self into the gay throng with the evident determination of enjoying himself or dying in the attempt. And more than one fair cheek flushed, and more than one pair of bright eyes grew bi igiiter, as their owner listened with downcast lashes and smiling lips to the gallant vvords of the handsotue voung lawver. He was, if not the hand- somest, at least otu of the handsomest, men in the room ; and *' Oh ! he had that merry glance, That seldom lady's heart resists ^ hi • ill • I' ..-t ' "t i\ f • I 1 ■ ''J And eclipsed belles raised their graceful heads in triumph to ilnd the bewildering Gipsy had no power over him. But if tliey had known all, they would have found that those " merry glances" were noi for them, but tj pique the jealousy of the evening star. Ere the company dispersed he sought out Gipsy, who withdrawing herself from the revelers, stood, silent tad ftlone, by the window. "Gipsy I" he said, gcntiv. " Mr. Rivers !" she said, drawing herself up. ** Forgive me, Gipsy, for what I Mud.** «K. I T> li'lB ''I ?t, I I p, 178 ARCHIE. '' I Iiave nothing to forgive ! ' rather think i^e are quit.i !" replied Gipsy, coolly. " Well, make up friends with uie, and be a little like the Gipsy I used to know." " VVhat ! like i!iat black little squaw — that bold, jgly, half-crazy tliinc^^? Von astonish me, Mr. Rivers 1" "Ves, even so, Gijosy ; you know it's all true; and I'll be the same * rvgidar fool, always laughing.' Thc;i shake hands and call nic Archie, as you used to." " Well, now, I don't know," said Gipsy — "I don t think 1 ought to forgive you." " Don't iliink about it, then, Nonsense, Gipsy — you know you're to be my little wife !" Slie laughed and extended her hand, though her dark cheek grew crimson. " Well, there, I forgive you, Archie. Will that do ? And now let us go into tlie supper-room, for I'm starving. One of my early habits I have not outgrown — and that is, a most alarming appetite." ** Now I shall have her all to myself for the rest of the evening," thought Archie, as he stood beside her, and watched triumphantly the many savage and ferocious glances cast toward him by tiie gentlemen. But Archie found himself slightly mistaken ; for Gipsy, five minutes later, told him to be off — that he was an old bore, and not half as agreeable as the most stupid of her bcaus. Then laughing at his mortified face, she danced and flirted unuiercifuUy, leaving Mr. Rivers to think she was the most capricious elf that ever tormented A young lawyer. Every day for a week after he was a coEStant visitor at Mr. Moore's. And every day for a week he went awiy as be came, without seeing Gipsy. She was al- ways out riding, or driving, or " not at home," though he could see her plainly laughing at him at the window. ARCfflJL '/f The willful fairy seemed to take a nnalicious delight la teasing the life out of poor Archie. Evening after even ing she accepted the escort of a handsome young Eng- lish baronet, Sir George Stuart, the most devoted of all her lovers — leaving Archie to bear it as he pleased. A\id between jealousy, and rage, and mortification, and wounded pride, Mr. Rivers had a hard time of it. It was too bad to see his own little Gipsy — his girlish lady-love — taken from him this way without being able to say a word against it. So Archie fell a prey to " green and yellow melan- choly," and never saw the stately young nobleman with- out feeling a demoniacal desire to blow his brains out , and nothing prevented him froui doing it but the be- coming respect he had for the laws of his country. One morning, however, for a wonder, he had the good fortune to find Gipsy alone in the parlor, looking pcr- fectlv charming in her becoming deshabille. ** How did you enjoy yourself last night at Mrs. Greer's ball ? I saw you there with that fool of a baro- net,'' said Archie, rather savagely. "I enjoyed myself very well, as I always do. And I must beg of you not to speak of Sir George in that way, Mr. Rivers. I won't allow it." "Oh, vou won't!" sneered Archie. "You seem to think a great deal of him. Miss Gower." " Why, of .oume I do ! He's so handsome — so per fect.y gentlemanlike — so agreeable, and so—everything else. He's a real love of a man." "Oh ! the deuce take him !" " Why, Mr. Rivers !" said Gipsy, with a very shocked expression of countenance. " Gipsy, be serious for once. I hare had something to i&y to you this long time, but vou >^ave been so precioui f , ,1*1 i::| ') oil 1 f ' £41 'i "1 'ail i ■■>■ »■ A •'r4- iU AMCmA I I careful to keep out of my sight, I've had no duuiM to lAj^ it Gipsy, do yon ioir Sir George Stuart ?" " Why, Arcllie ! to be sure 1 do." " Oh-h-h !" groaned Archie. " What's the matter ?— got the toothache T* *' Oh, dear, no. i have the heart-ache !*' '* Sorry to hear it. Better go to Deep Dale and con* ■ult Doctor Spider about it." " Will you come with me ?" "I've no objection. I'm going home to-mOiTow, and I'd just as lief have you for an escort as any one else." " Then you are not going to be married to Sir George Stuart, Gipsy ?" exclaimed Archie, eagerly. ** Why, not just now, I think." " Gipsy, would you marry me ?" ' "Well, I wouldn't mind, if nobody better offers." " Oh. Gipsy ! be serious ; don't laugh at me now. You know you promised, wlien a little girl, to be my little wife. Will you, dear Gipsy?" " There — gracious me ! you're treading on Sambo's toes." A howl from au unfortunate black pug dog testified to the truth of this remark. "Men are such awkward creatures! Poor Sambo! 4id he hur' you ?" said 'jipsy, stooping and caressing X\in ugly li'.'le brute. " Oh, saints and angels ! only hear her She will drive mc mad — I know she will. Here I offer her my hctf.rt, and hand. ;uid fortune (though I don't happen to have iucli a thing about me), and she begins talking about Sambo*s toes. That girl will be the death of me, Acd when I die Til charge them to place on my tomb- •taue, * Died from an overdose of a coquette.' " And Ma.ster Archie stamped up and down, and flung ARCHIE. Ill his coat-tails aboul with an utterly distracted expression of countenai.ee. " Why, wl.at nonsense are you going on with there F' inquired Gipsy, pausincjin her task of comforting Sam- bo^ and loukin>^ at him in surprise. " Nonsense !" exclaimed Archie, pausing before her, and throwing himself into a tragic attitude. " Infatuated girl ! the heart you now cast from you will haunx you in the dead hours \>f the nigfit, when everything (but the mosquitf^es) is s]ce[>ing ; ii will be ever before you in your English home, when you are the bride of Sir George (confound him !) Stuart , it will " But Master Archie could proceed no further ; for Gipsy fell back in herciiair, lairly screaming with laugh- ter. Archie made a desperate effort to maintain hi-* gravity, but the elTort. proved a failure, and he was forced to join Gipsy in an uproarious peal. *' Oh, dear !" said Gipsy, wiping her eyes, '* i dr.u't know when 1 have lauirhed so much." *'Yes," said Archie, in high d geon — "pretiy thing to laugh at, too ! After break ^ my heart, to begin grinning aboul it. Humph!" " Vou looked so funny — you ooked ** Gipsy's voice was lost in an< ler fit of laughter. " Come, now, Gipsy, likt . ^ood girl, don' laugh any more ; but tell me, ivill you marry me — will you bo my wife ?" " Why, yes, you dear old goose, you ! \ never in- tended to be anythitig else. You might have known that I'd be your wife, without making' such a fiiss about it," said Gipsy. •* And Sir George, Gipsy ?" ** Oh, poor fellow, I gave him his coup de cong* UuU B%ht, and he set out for England this morning." .ja ^.i5i . 'S^ M r:^!'b ''4 I ■ir-t . ■.■ m ' & A I«fl G/I'SY'S DARING, ■ i m •s " Oh, Gipsy, my clear, you're a jicarl without price V exclaimed Archie, in ji rupture. "Glad to hear ii, I'm sure. And now dif go away Archie, ami (l-ui'l bother me any longer ; fori must pack irp my things an\?vs a lovely May morning. The air was made jociina vvith tiic songs of birds ; the balmy breeze scarce r\\)\ id the surface of the bay, where the sunshine fell in 1 hroii'^h the open doors and windows of Valley Cot- rage liie urighi May sunbeams fell warm and bright • they 'ingerovl in broad patches on the white floor, and touched genLly the iron-gray locks of Miss Hagar, us she *.at knitting in her leathern chair in the chimney-corner i:; lipriglit auvi gray as ever. Years seemed to pass ol '.viiJiouf touchn.g her; for just as we first saw her at i^izy.ie (Jranmoit's bridal, the same does she appear to- olaVy . In the doorwo-y stands a young girl, tall and grace- ful, dresied in soft gray muslin, fastened at her slendei waist by a gold-coiured belt. Can this young lady be our liitlf! shy Celeste? \l-, here is the s^me superb form, the ^ame dainty little head, with its wealth of paic- j,]^ni hoard many — have had no power to spoil her pure licart, and she has returned the same gentle, ' :)ving Celc.-sie — the idol of all who know her, radiating ight and beauty wlicrever she goes, a very angel ol charily to the poor, and beloved and cherished by tlio rich. MorD hearts than Celeste likes to think of have been laid at her feet, to be i^ently and firmly, but sadly, refused , fur that sound, unsullied heart has never yet been stirred by the words of man. She sto'»d in the doorway, gazing with parted lips a^d sparklitig eyes on the balmy beauty of that bright spring morning, with a hymn of gratitude and love to the Author of all this beauty filling her mind. Suddenly the sylvan silence of the spot was broken by the thunder of horse's hoofs, and the next instant Gipsy came bounding along upon the back of her favor* ;tc Mignonne. "Good-morning, dear Gipsy," said Celeste, with hei own bright smile, as :?ne hastened to open the gate for her. *• Have you been oiil ^.s usual, 'lunting this morning V " Ves, and die/*^ ye the spoils," said Gipsy, thro'ving a well fiUcu ganie-b».g on the ground. " I come like a crue hunter — r» lf>pl knight of the gay greenwood — to lay them at th*^ '"e'^t of my liege lady. I fancied a can- vas-back ut'.ok 'ind a bright-winged partridge would not come auvss rhis morning. I know my gallop has made me perfe«"t)y ravenous." *' Vou shall have one of them presently for break« fast," said Celeste, calling Curly, their little black maii' cf all-W( ;. " Tie Mignon.ie there, and come in." " By ihc way, Celeste, you don't seem to think it such »Q apps ; act to shoot birds now as you us«d to," said G/J'SY'S DAXIIfG. > human being could save her. Gipsy stood gazing like one fascinated ; and onward still the doomed bark drove — like a lost soul rushing to its own destruc- tion. Night and darkness at last shut out the ill-fated ship from her view. Leaving the house, she hastily made her w£iy to the shore ?".;'. standing en 2 high, piojecting ;^eak, waited for the moon : o rise, to view the scene 01 'em pest and d^'.uh I' lifted its V, II , .z',:x\-:S. far; at last from behind a bank of dull, black clouds, and lit up with its ghastly light the heaving sea and driving vessel. The tcrjpest seemed momentarily increasing. The waves boiled, and •cethcd, and foamed, and lashed themselves in fuiy against the beetling rocks. And, holding by a project- ing cliff, Gipsy st< Dd surveying the scene. You might ! M (•• \ .' ■■■ I, ■ # IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 III I.I ■ 50 ■^" ili^B Ul Hi 2.0 1.8 1.25 1 1.4 III 1.6 M 6" ► V] °^ ^^i ^^^ ■> O A^. '>> ^ '^ / Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 873-4503 ''I#%'^^^ <^^^ «.v*^^* 5 wm^ 1^ lU GIFSY'S DARING. .j:f ^ii . :'J M>1 have thought her the s[)irit of the storm, looking on tht tempest she had herself raised. Her black hair and thin dress streamed in the wind behind her, as s/ie stood lead- ing forward, her .ittle, wild, dark face looking strange and weird, with Its blazing eyes, and cheeks burning with the mad excitement of the scene. Down below her, on the shore, a crowd of hardy fishermen were gathered, watching with straining eyes the gallant craft that in a few moments would be a broken ruin. On the deck could be plainly seen the crew, making most superhuman ex • ertions to save themselves from the terrible fate impend ing over them. All in vain ! Ten minutes more and they would be dashed to pieces. Gipsy could endure the maddening sight no longer. Leaping from the cliff, she sprang down the rocks, like a mountain kid, and landed among the fishermen, who were too much accustomed to see her among them in scenes like this to be much startled by it now. '* Will you let them perish before your eyes ?" she cried, wildly, " Are you men, to stand here idle in a time like this ? But with the boats, and save their lives !* "Impossible, Miss Gipsy!" answered half a dozen voices. " No boat could live in such a surf." " Oh, great heaven ! And must they die miserably before your very eyes, without even making an effort to save tliem ?" she exclaimed, passionately, wringing her hands. " Oh, that I were a man ! Listen . Whoevc; will make the attempt shall receive five hundred doUaii. reward !" Not one moved Life could not be sacrificed fot money. " There she gees !' cried a voice. Gipsy turned to look. A wild, prolonged shriek of mortal agony rose above the uproar of the storm, and erfSY's BAttmo. tU the crew were left struggling for life in the bcilitig waves. With a piercing cry, scarcely I'ess anguished than tneir own, tlic mad girl bounded to the shore, pushed ofi R light batteauy seized the oars, and the next moment was dancing over the foaming waves. A shout of fear and horror arose from the shore at the daring act. She lieeded it not, as, bending all her energies to the task of guiding her frail bark through the tempestuous billows, she bent her whole strength to the oars. Oh ! surely her guardian angel steered that boat on its errand of mercy through the heaving, tempest-tossea sea ! The salt spray seemed blinding her as it dashed in her face ; but on i'he flew, now balanced for a mo- ment on the top of a snowy hill of foam, the next, sunk down, down, as thougii it were never more to rise. " Leap into the boar. !" she cried, in a clear, shrill voice, that made itself heard, even above the storm. Strong hands clutched it with the desperation ol death, and two heavy bodies rolled violently in. The weight nearly overset the light skiff ; but, bending her body to the oars, she righted it again. *' Where are the rest ?" she exclaimed, wildly. " All gone to tlie bottom. Give me the oars I" cried a voice. She felt herself lifted from where she sat, placed gently in the bottom of the boat, and then all conscious- ness left her, and, overcome by the excitement, she fainted where sJie lay. When she again opened her eyes she was lying in the arms of some one on the shore, with a circle of troubled anxious faces around her. She sprang up wildly. ^ Are they saved ?" she exclaimed, looking around. ?a n . . r .! ■■^13 -f.iM i /' ■iv;: ;-il;.<;M i J . ) , m4i ! mi- i ■r 'si h I >f^ G/PSY'S DARING, "Yes; thanks to your heroism, our Tfcs are pie served," said a voice beside Iier. She turned hastily round. It was Doctor Nicholas Wisenmn. Another form lay stark and rigid on the sand^ with men bending over him. A deadly sickness came over Gipsy — she knew not why it was. She turned away, with a violent shudder from his outstretched hand, and bent over the still form on the sand. Ali made way for her with respectful deference ; and she knelt beside him and looked in his face. He was a boy — a mere youth, but singularly hand- some, with a look of deep repos« on his almost beauti- ful face. " Is he dead ?" she cried, in a voice of piercing an- guish. " No ; only stunned," said the doctor, coming over and feeling his pulse. " Take iiim to Sunset Hall, then," said Gipsy, turn- ing to some of the men standing by. A shutter was procured, and the senseless form oi the lad placed upon it, and, raising it on their shoulders, they bore him in the direction of the old mansion-house. Doctor Wiseman went toward his own home. And Gipsy, the free mountain maid, leaped up the rocks, feeling, for the first time in her life, sick and giddy Oh ! better, far better for her had they but periibed is the seething waves ! « THE SAILOR BOY*S DOOM. CHAPTER XX. «•» THE SAILOR BOY S DOCM. ' 'v '• With gentle hand and soothing tongnt She bore the leech's part ; And while she o'er his sick bed hung He paid her with his heart." — ScoTT. HE sunshine of a breezy June moriiing fell pleasantly into the chamber of the invalid. It was a bright, airy room — a perfect paradise of a sick chamber — with its snowy curtained bed, its tempting easy-chair, its white lace window curtains fluttering softly in the morning air The odor of flowers came wafted through the ofjen case- ment , and the merry chirping of a bright- winged canary, hanging in the sunshine, filled the room with its cheer ful music. Reclining in the easy-chair, gazing longingly out at the glorious sunshine, sat the young sailor whose life • Gipsy had saved. His heavy dark hair fell in shining waves over his pale, intelligent brow ; and his large blue eyes had a 1 jok of dreamy melancholy that few female beans could have resisted Suddenly his eye lighted up, and h'f Tvhole face brightened, as a clear, sweet voice, singing a gay carol, met his ear. Gipsy still retained her old habit of singing fiii she walked ; jhhI the next moment the door opened, and she stood, like some bright vision, before him, with cheeks glowing, eyes sparkling, and her countenance bright and radiant from her morning ride • her dark parp'e riding-habit setting off to the best advantage her straight, slight, rounded form; and her jaunty riding- »Ai 'V,l- ii >'3 s- i 'rt ' t M ii ■ ' \ 1 Ii (ft rjsrar sa/zor bovs doom. i? hat, with its lofio\ swcf^pincc, sable plume, gfirln^ her th« sir of a young inovintTiri queen, crowned with vitality,^ aad sccptcred witli life and beauty. "Oh, I li.'ive ha.l such a charming canter over the hilU ■jiis moraini^," she cried, wif.ii her wild, breezy laugh. ' W :a\ I wished you had been well enough to accompany frje. Mignonnc fairly Hew, leaping over yawning chasms and rocks as t.ho',if';h he felt not the ground beneath him. But I am forgetting —how do you feel this morning?" " Much better, sweet, lady. Who could be long ill with such a nurs-i .'" he replied, whiie his fine eyes lit up with admiratio~i and gratitude. Gipsy, be ^t known, had installed herself as the nurse of the yount-; sailor ; and, by her sleepless care and tender nuTjing, iiad almost restored him from death to life. iVnd .vhen he became convalescent, she would sit by his beJside for houts, reading, talking, and singing forhir.i, until gratitude on his part ripened into fervent love: while she only looked upou him as she would on any o'.her stranger — taking an interest in him only on acc:'(97/ venture, fairest lady." ''Me? Ha, ha! Why, I've been on horseback ever since I was two years old. My horse is my other self. I could as soon think of living; without laughiDg as with out Mignonne." Uj THE SAILOR BOY S DOOM m : her the vitality, thehillr} ' laugh. J chasms ath him. ing?" long ill es lit up he nurse ;are and death to Guid sit singing ) fervent vrould on only on ;ause she It you to ne. Are 3t to try I you, to ack ever r self. I as with Its " Then, sweet lady, you will kindly be my teacher In the art of riding." " Oh, I wouldn't want better fun ; but look here, Mr. Danvers, don't be ' sweet lady'-ing me ! I ain't used to it, you know. People generally call me Monkey,' 'Imp,' 'Torment,' 'Wretch,' and other pet names of a like nature. But if you don't like any of them, call me Gipsy, or Gipsy Gower, but don't call me * sweet lady' again. You see, I never could stand nicknames." "And may I ask you why you have received those names ?" inquired the young midshipman (for such he was), laughing. " Why, because I am an imp, a wretch, and always was — and always will be, for that matter. I believe I was made to keep the world alive. Why, everybody in St. Mark's would be dead of the blues if it weren't for me. " Yes ; I have heard of some of your wild antics. That good old lady, Mrs. Gower, was with me last night, and we had quite a long conversation about you, I assure you." " Poor dear aunty, she's at her wii's* end, sometimes, to know what to do with me. And, by that same token, here she comes. Speak of somebody, and he'll appear, you know." Mrs, Gower opened the door, flushed and palpitating with her walk up-stairs. Poor Mrs. Gower was "wax- ing fat" with years ; and it was no easy task for her to toil her way up the long staircase of Sunset Hail. "Oh, Gipsy, my dear !" she exclaimed, all in a glow of pleasurable excitement, "guess who's come I" " Who, who ?" cried Gipsy, eagerly. «' Archie !" Up sprang Gipsy, flew past Mrs. Gower, and iawJEk the stairs in a twinkling. if ■■■'••ill i^i ; ii : .t y i "0 a' 'Vi' ? ■■'] I 5 mil I If4 THE SAILOR BOY'S DOOM. I 1 5 '. m\ m^ 'M "Archie ! who the deuce :s he?" thought the fOtiBg midshipman, with a jealous twinge. " You seem to have brought Miss Gower pleasant news," he remarked, by way of drawing her out, after he he had answered her inquiries about his health. " Why, yes, it's natural she should be glad to meet her old playmate," replied the unsuspecting old lady. " Ah ! her old playmate. Then she has known him for a long time?" " Yes ; they were children together, grew up together, and were always fond of one another. It has always been my dearest wish to see them united ; and I dare say they V ni be yet." The youth's face was turned to the window as she •poke, or good Mrs. Gower might have been startled by his paleness. As he asked no more questions, the worthy old lady began to think he might wish to be left to himself ; so, after a few general directions to be sure and take care of himself and not catch cold, she quitted the room. Meantime, Archie and Gipsy were holding a very ani- mated conversation in the parlor below. Archie was relating how h« had undertaken a very important case, that would call him from home for four or five months ; and that, when it was over, he would be rich enough to set up an establishment for himself, and return to Sl Mark's to claim his little bride. "And now, Gipsy," he concluded, "what mischiei hare you been perpetrating since I saw you last? Who have you locked up, or shot, or ran away with since Y* In reply, Gipsy related the story of the wreck, and went into ecstasies on tha beauty of Mr. Hany Danyers, U. S. N. Archie listened with a sayage frown, that II is: THE SAILOR BOYS DOOM, X9S grew pofceptibl)' more savaj^e every moment. Gipsy saw It, and maliciously praised him n^ore and more. •' Oh, Archie, he's the handsomest fellow I ever met 3o agreeable and polite, with such a beautiful, melan- hnly countenance !" "Oh, curse his melancholy countenance !" *' F'or shame, sir ! How can you speak so of my riends ? But it's just like you. You always were a cross, disagreeable old thini:; — now then !" '' Yes ; I'm not such a sweet seraph as this agreeable and pclite young son of Neptune," said Mr. Rivers, with a witheiing sneer. " Just let me catch sight of his * beau- tiful, melancholy countenance,' and maybe I'll spoil its beauty for him." "Now, Archie, you're real hateful. I'm sure you'll like him when you see him." " Like him ! Yes, I'd like to blow his brains out." " No, you mustn't, either ; he's too handsome to bo killed. Oh, Archie, when he laughs he looks so charm- ing !" " Confound him ! /'// make him laugh on the other side of his mouth !" growled the exasperated Archie. " He's got such a sweet mouth and such lovely white teeth !" continued the tantalizing fairy. " I wish he and his white teeth were at the bottom of the Red Sea !" burst out Archie, in a rage. " Why, Mr. Rivers, you're positively jealous !" said flipsy, looking very much surprised indeed. "Jealous ! Yes, I should think so. You are enough to drive any one jealous. Suppose T began raving about yoang ladies — their * melancholy countenances,' and 'sweet mouths,' and 'white teeth,' and all such stuff — how would you like it, I want to know?" " Why, I shouldn't care." '' Yqu wouldn't ? Oh, Jupiter Olympui ; Onlj fi f 1 !i' t ! ■ ' ii'i '■' I I ■ , • •J ■• m 196 TIfB SA:L0R BOY'S DOOM, I *,• \\\ thntr exclaimed Archie, striding up and down 11. a low erinfl;- pussion. '" Tiuit sliovvs all you care about me\ Going and lalliiig in love with the Srsi eld tarry 5:;viloi you meet ! I won't endure it ! I'll olow niy brains >nJ —I'll " WeL, don't do it in the house, then. Pistols uiaW a noise, nnd nnght disturb Mr. Danvers." Arcliio fell into a chair with a deep groan. " There, don't look so dismal. I declare, you give nit a fit of the bhies every time you come to see me. Why can't you be pleasant, and laugh?" " I>augh !" exchiimed poor Archie. " Yes, laui^h! I'm sure you used to be forever grin- ning. Poor, dc;ir Air Danvers is sick, yet he laughs." " Mr. Danvers again !" shouted Archie, springing to his feet, *' May Lucifer twist Mr. Danvers' neck for him ! I won't stay another minute in the house. I'll clear out, and never see you more. I'll never enter your presence again, you heartless girl !" " Well, won't you take a cup of coffee before you go ?" said Gipsy, with her sweetest smile. "Hallo, Jupiter! Jupiter, 1 say, bring round my horse. And now, most faithless of women, I leave you forever. Life is now a blank to me ; and, ere yonder sun sets, I shall be in eternity," 'Is it possible? Won't you write when you get there, and let me know if it's a good p'ace for lawyers to settle in ?" Oh ! such a groan as followed this ! Casting a tragical look of despair at Gipsy, who sat smiling serene- ly, Archie rushed from the house. Ten minutes later he was back again. Gipsy had stretched herself on a sofa, and was apparently fast asleep ,!« THE SAILOR BOY'S DOOM, »fr rever grin- "Heartless girl!" exclaimed ArchiS) shaking ;.er; «wake up, Gipsy !" "Oli! is it you?" said Gipsy, drowsily opening; her eyes. " What did you wake me up for ? I thought you had started on your journey to eternity.** "Gipsy, shall I go?" "Just as you please, Archie — only let me go to sleep, and don't bother me." " Oh, Gipsy ! — you cruel coquette ! won*t you bid me stay ?" " Well, stay^ then ! I wish to goodness you wouldn*t be such a pest." "Gipsy, tell me — do you love me or Mr. Danvert best?" " I don't love either of you — there, now ! And I tell you what, Archie Rivers, if you don't go ofif and let mo get asleep, I'll never speak to you again. Mind that !" With a deep sigh, Archie obeyed, and walked out of the room with a most dejected expression of counte- nance. No sooner was he gone than Gipsy sprang up, and, clapping her hands, danced round the room — her eyes sparkling with delight. "Oh, it's such fun!" she exclaimed. "Poor, dear Archie ! — if I haven't made him a victim to the 'green- eyed monster!' Mr. Danvers, indeed! As if that dear, goodnatured Archie wasn't worth all the Mr. Danvers that ever adorned the quarterdeck 1 Ob I won*t I flirt, though, and make the 'distinguished Mr. Rivers' so jealous, that he won't know whether he's standing on his head or his heels ! If I am to settle down into a hum- dnim Mrs. Rivers some day, I'll have as much frolic as I can before it. So, Master Archie, look out for the wrath that's to come ;' for your agonies won't move me in the least " And never did any one keep her word m4ire faithfullj t 'I i •ni 'M 'iT'->i i; .*;" 198 THE SAILOR BOY*S DOOM. m 'f • A 1 ■',i\ ' >} f •• than Gipsy. During the fortnight that Archie was ta stay with them she flirted unmercifully with the hand> some younj^ midshiptiuin, who was now able to ride out, quite unconscious of ill the hopes she was rousing in his bo;3om. Poor G ipsy ! little did she dream that, while she rode by liis side, and bestowed upon him her enchanting smiles, and wore the colors he liked, anc* sang the songs he hn-ed, to torment the unhappy Archie that he, believing her serious, had already surrendered his heart to thft bewitching sprite, and reposed in the blissful dream »)f one day calling her his I Archie Rivers 7c>as jealous. Many were the ferocious glances he cast upon the young sailor ; and many and dire were his threats of vengeance. But Gipsy, mad girl, only lis^ter ed and laughed, and knew not that an- §ther pair of ea's heard those threats, and would one day use them to her destruction. But matten were now drawing to a crisis. The young midshipman was now quite restored to health, and found himself obliged to turn his thoughts toward his own home. Archie's fortnight had elapsed ; but still he lingered — too jealous to leave while his rival re- mained. One bright moonlight night the three were gathered in the cool, wide porch in front of the mansion. Gipsy stood in the doorway — her white dress fluttering in the breeze — binding in her dark, glossy curls a wreath of crimson rosebuds, given her a few moments previous by Mr. Dan vers. All her smiles, and words, and glances wei e directed toward him. Archio was apparently for- l^otten. ^' Please sing one of your charming songs, Miss Gipsy \ this is just the hour for music," said Mr. Dan- vers. With pleasure What shall t be?— -your fftTorite ?" M T' THE SAILOR BOY'S DOOM, >ff fnquired Gipsy, taking her guitar and seating herself aft tiis feet. " If you will be so good," he replied, his eyes spark- ling with pleasure at her evident preference. Archie's brow grew dark. He hated the sailor's fav- orite song, because it was his favorite. This Gipsy well knew ; and her brown eyes twinkled with mischief^ as she began, in her clear, sweet voice : •' * Sleeping, I dream, love — I dream, love, of the*) O'er the bright waves, love, tloating with thee ; Light in thy soft hair played the soft wind, Fondly thy white arms around me were twined ; And as thy sung, love, swelled o'er the sea, Fondly thy blue eyes beamed love, on me.' ** She hesitated a moment, and looked up in his fare, as though really intending the words for him. He was bending over her, pale and panting — his blue eyes blaz- ing with a light that brought the crimson blood in a rosy tide to her very temples. She stopped abruptly. * Go on !" he said, in a low voice. She hesitated, glanced at Archie, and seeing the storm-cloud on his brow, the demon of mischief once mor^ conquered her better nature, and she resumed : " * Soon o'er the bright waves howled forth the gale, Fiercely the lightningf flashed on our sail \ And as our frail bark drove through the sea. Thine eyes, like loadstones, beamed, love, on Oh, heart, awaken I — wrecked on lone shore, Thou art forsaken ! — dream, heart, no more.' " j^^i^ •r.'. . . ... .''1 1. 1 - Ere the last words were uttered, Archie had seized his hat and rushed from the house ; and Danvers, for- getting everything save the entrancing creature at his feet, clasped her suddenly in his arms, aad pafisionately exclaimed : iffiF' 7^ i \t ■',) t ■ '< THE SAILOR BOY'S DOOM, ** Oh, Gipsy ! my love ! m} life, my beauthul mjuiii tain sprite ! — can you, will you love me ?" With a wild, sharp cry of terror and anger, she broke from his arins, and sprang back, with flashing eyes. ** Back, sir, viack ! — I command you ! How dare you attempt such a liberty with me?" How beautiful she looked in her wrath, with her blazing eyes, and crimson cheeks, and straight little form drawn up to its full height, in surprise and indig- nation. He stood gazing at her for a moment — amazed, thunder-struck at the change. Then, seeing only her enchanting beauty, he took a step forward, threw him- self at her feet, and broke forth passionately : " Gipsy, I love you — I worship you. Have you been mocking me all this time ? — or do you love me, too ?" " Rise, sir I I have neither been mocking you, nor do I love you ! Rise ! rise ! Kneel not to me !" "And I have been deceived? Oh, falsest of false ones ! why did you learn me to love you ?" "Mr. Danvers, don't call me names. As to the learn- ing you to love wif, I never attempted such a thing in my life ! I'd scorn to do it," she said, indignantly ; but even while sbs spoke, the blood rushed in a fiery torrent to her face, and then back to her heart, for she thought of *dl the encouragement her merciless flirtation must have ^^i\eu him. " Ycu did, Gipsy, you know you did T he vehemently exclained. " Every encouragement that could be given to a lover you gave to me ; and I — fool that I was — I belie'^ed you, never dreaming that I should find a flinty, hardened flirt in one whom I took to be a pure-hearted mountain maiden." Had Gipsy felt herself innocent of the charge, how indigfnantly she would have denied it. But the con- THR SAILOR £OY*S DOOM. flOI iciousness of guilt sent -he crimson oDce mere to her brow, as she replied in a low, hurried tone : ' Mr. Danvers, I have done wrong ! Forgive me ! As heaven is my witness, I dreamed not that you cared for me. It was my mad, wild love of mischief brought all this about. Mr, Danvers, it is as yet a secret, but Mr. Rivers is my betrotiied husband. Some fiend prompted me to make him jealous, and to accomplish that end I — I blush to say it — flirted with you ; alas, never dreaming you thought anything of it. And now that I have ac- knowledged my fault, will you forgive me, and — be my friend ?" She extended her hand. He smiled bitterly, and passed her without touching it. Then leaving the house, he mounted his horse and galloped furiously away. Prophetic, indeed, were the words with which her song had ended — words that came pealing through the dim aisles of the forest after him, as he plunged frantically along : " Oh, heart, awaken ! — wrecked on lone shore. Thou art forsaken ! — dream, heart, ao mor« t" Gipsy stood still in the perch, cold and pale, await- ing his return. But though she waited until the stars grew dim in the sky, he came not. Morning dawned, and found her pale with undefined fear, but still he wa8 absent. After breakfast, Archie came over, still angry and sullen, after the previous night's scene, to find Gipsy qu/eter and more gentle than he had ever seen her before in her life. " I wish he would come ! I wish he would come !" cried her wild, excited heart, as she paced up ai^d down, until her eyes grew bright and her cheeks grew burning hot, with feverish watching and vague fear. ?•■ m \ it! :ll 4 .-ft . I- • ■ r * i ■•.«. 1 r" I I" i02 THE SAILOR BOY'S DOOM. "You look ill and excited, Gipsy. A caatet tvei the hills will do you good," said Archie, anxiously. She eagerly assented, and leaping on Mignonne'i 6a::.k, dashed away at a tremendous pa^e, yet could not f^o half quick enough to satisfy her restless longing to Ay, fly, she knew not where. " Where are you going, Gipsy ?" cried Archie, who /ound some difficulty to keep up with the break-neck ^ace at which she rode. "To the Black Gorge," was her reply, as she thun- dered over the cliff. " Why, Gipsy ! what possesses you to go to that wild place ?" said Archie, in surprise. " I don't know — I feel as if I must go there ! Don t calk to me, Arciiie ! I believe I'm crazy this morning !" She flew on swifter than ever, until they reached the /pot — a huge, black, yawning gulf among the hills. She jodc so close to the fearful brink that Archie's heart rfiood otill in horror. " Arc you mad, Gipsy ?" he cned, seizing her bridle- j«in and torcing her back. " One false step, and your V rains would be dashed out against the rocks." But, fixing her eyes on the dark chasm, she answered him only by a wild, prolonged shriek, so full of piercing anguish that his blood seemed curdling in his veins, while, with bloodless face and quivering finger, she pointed to the gulf. He leaped from his horse and approached the dizzy edge. And there a sight met his eyes that froze his heart with horror. •' Great God !" he cried, springing back, with a face deadly white. " A horse and rider lie dead and mangled below !" A deadly faintness came over Gipsy; the ground ■eemed reelioer around her. and countless stars danced ■fl ■m tei wet isly, ynonne'i ould not nging to lie, who eak-neck he thun- that wild ! Dont Drning !" ched the lis. She e's heart ;r bridle- ind your mswered piercing is veins, iger, she :he dizzy his heart :h a face mangled J ground '» danced TIf£ SAILOU BOY'S DOOM, ao3 before her eyes. For a moment she was on the verge of swooning, then by a powerful effort the tide of life rolled back, and she leaped from her horse and stood b\ his side. "It is impossible to reach the bottom," cried Archie m a voice low with horror. " A cat could hardly clan; ber down those perpendicular sides." "I can do it, Archie ; I often went up and down thm?. when a child," exclaimed Gipsy ; and ere Archie coiiid restrain her, the fearless girl had caught hold of a stunlcc' spruce tree and swung herself over the edge of the ap- palling gorge. Archie Rivers scarcely breathed ; he felt as though he scarcely lived while she rapidly descended by catching the matted shrubs growing along its sides. She v;as down at last, and bending over the mangled form below. " Gipsy ! Gipsy ! do you recognize him ?" cried Archie. She looked up, and he saw a face from which every trace of life seemed to have fled. " Yes," she replied, hoarsely. ** It is Danvers f Ride — ride for your life to Sunset Hall, and bring men and ropes to take him up !" In an instant he was in the saddle, and off. In less than an hour he returned, with half the population in the village after him, whom the news of the catastrophe? had brought together. Ropes were lowered to Gipsy, who still remainct' where Archie had left her, and the lifeless form of the young man drawn up. Gipsy, refusingall aid, clambered up the side, and the mournful cavalcade set out for Sun- set Hall. He was quite dead. It was evident he had fallen, in the darkness, into the gorge, and been instantly kiJed. His fa'r hair kung, clotted with blood, round his tor» :*■.:■( V. ■'^ \-:M ■, 1 u t ■■ '.■ ];.' r- I'l ' «.'. 'yf, *. ... mi L I ao4 TB£ SPIDER WEAVES SIS WEB. head : and a fearful gash in the temple showed tlia wound whence his young life had flowed away. And Gipsy, feeling as though she were his murderess, sat by his side, and, gazing on the still, cold form, shed the first bitter tears that had ever fallen from her eyes. By some strange coincidence, it was in that self-same spot the dead body of Barry O ran more had been found. Poor Gipsy ! The sunshine was fast fading out of her sky, and the clouds of fate gathering thick and fast around her. She wept now for another — knowing not how soon she was to weep for herself. CHAPTER XXI. THE SPIDER WEAVES HIS WIB. *• A fearful sign stands in thy house of lif«— An enemy — a fiend lurks close behind The radiance of thy planet. Oh, be warned !" — CoLimn>OB. " And now a darker hour ascends." — MAUfiON, WEEK after the event recorded inthe last chapter Archie went back to the city. Be- fore he went, he had obtained a promise from Gipsy — who had grown strangely still and gentle since the death of Danvers — to become his wife immediately upon his return ; but, with her usual eccentricity, she refused to allow him to make their engagement public. " Time enough by and by," was still her answer ; and Archie was forced to be content. Gipsy was, for a while. sAd and quiet, Unit both were : i liHi 9. ed tUa . And sat by he first y some )ot the cut of nd fast ng not AmoB. he last y. Be- promise ely still ers — to It, with o make er ; and th were THE SPIDER WEAVES MIS WEM n^l foreign to her character ; and, with the natural b.i:>y» ancy of yo.ith, she shook off her gloom, and soon onc« more her merry hiugh made music through the old house. Doctor Nicholas Wiseman sometimes made his appear- ance at Sunset Hall of late. Lizzie was suffering from a low fever ; and as he was the only physician in St. Mark's, he was called in. As he sat one day in the parlor at luncheon with the squire, Gipsy came tripping along with her visual elastic step, and touching her hat gallantly to the gentlemen, ran up to her own room. The squire's eyes followed her with a look of fond pride. " Did you ever see such another charming little vixen ?" he asked, turning to the doctor. " Miss Gowcr's certainly an extraordinary young lady," said the doctor, dryly. " I have often been sur- prised, Squire Erliston, that you should treat your house- keeper's niece as one of your own family." " She's not my housekeeper's niece," blurted out the squire ; " she was " He paused, suddenly recollectiiig that the discovery of Gipsy was a secret. " She was what ?" said the doctor, fixing his keen eyes on the old man's face. " Well, hang it, Wiseman, I suppose it makes no dif- ference whether I tell you or not. Gipsy is not Mrs. Gower's niece : she is a foundling." "Yes," said the doctor, pricking up his ears. "Yes, last Christmas Eve, just seventeen years ago, Mrs. Gower, returning from A , found Gipsy lying on the beach, near the south end of the city." Long habit had given Dr. Wiseman full control ever his emotions, but now the blood rushed in a purple tide to his sallow face, as he leaped from hit chair and fairly ihouted : '■^ r; ir: I' I I : 1 1, i 1 1 1 1 .■ill! ;1 I 1 I 1 f 1 8o6 TITB SPTDER WEAVES HIS WMM. " Whatr ** Eh ? Lord bless the man! — what's the matter F* Slid the squire, staring at him until his :ittle fat eyea seemed ready to burst from their sockets. " What did you say ? — found her on the beach on Christmas Eve, seventeen years ago?" said the doctor, seizinji; him fiercely by the arm, and glaring upon hira with his yellow eyes. " Yes, I said so. What in the name of all the demons is the matter with you ?" roared the squire, shaking him off. "What iloyou know about it?" "Nothing! nothing! nothing!" replied the doctor, remembering himself, and sinking back in his chair. ** Pray, go on," The squire eyed him suspiciously. " My dear sir," said the doctor, every trace of emo- tion now passed away, "forgive my violence. But really, :he story seemed so improbable " "Improbable or not, sir," interrupted the squire angry at being doubted, " it's true as Gospel. It was a snowy, unpleasant night. Mrs. Gower and Jupiter were returning from the city, and took the shore road in pref- erence to going over the hills. As they went along, Mrs. Gower was forced to get out on account of the dangerous road ; and hearing a child cry, she stooped down, and found Gipsy lying wrapped up in a shawl, in the sand. Well, sir, tny housekeeper, as a matter of course — being a humane woman — brought the child (which could not have been a week old) home, and gave it her name. And that, sir, is the history of Giosy Gower, lot it seem ever so improbable." Like lightning there flashed across -he mind of tne doctor the recollection of the advancing sleigh-belis which had startled him from the beach. This, then, waa the secret of he; disappearance ! This, then, wai ur. natter f fat eyea each on doctor, >on him demons ng him doctor, s chair. of emo- , But squirC; t was a er were in pref- along, ; of the stooped bawl, io itter of i child nd gave Giosy I of tne jh-bells en, was n, wai TJTi: SP/DEH JV EAVES BIS WBB. lof the child of Esther Erliston and Alfred Oranmorel This wild, untamed, daring elf was the heiress, in her mother's right, of all the broad lands of the Erlistons. She had been brought up as a dependent in the house of which she was the rightful heiress : and the squire dreamed not that his " monkey" was his grandchild ! Thoughts like these flashed like lightning through the mind of Dr. Wiseman. Tiie sudden, startling dis- covery bewildered him ; he felt unequal to the task of conversing. And making some excuse, he arose abrupt- ly, entered his gig, and letting the reins fall on his hofse's neck, allowed him to make the best of his way home , while, with his head dropped on his breast, he pondered on the strange disclosure he had just heard. No one living, it was evident, knew who she was, save himself. What would old Dame Oranmore say when she heard it ? Wretch as he was, he found himself forced to acknowledge the hand of a ruling Providence in all this. The child who had been cast out to die had been nurtured in the home that was hers by right. By his hand the mother had perished ; yet the heroism of the daughtei had preserved his worthless life. "What use shall I make of this discovery?" he mused, as he rode along. " How can I turn it to my own advantage ? If I wish it, I can find little difficulty ;rj convincing the world that she is the rightful heiress of Mount Sunset, instead of Louis Oranmore. But how to do it, without implicating myself — that's the question. There was no witness to the death-bed scene of Esther Erliston ; and I can assert that Madam Oranmore caused me tc remove the child, without mentioning the mother at all. I can also easily feign some excuse for leaving her in the snow — talk about my remorse ana anguish at finding her gDoe, and all that Now, if I could only gel I'i I . ■ •„ »i , ■ •]•■■■ ,; 'V\ t .' .-Ml;" 'ft ' / i, . Sr /i ' 1 'f'j ' 'Hi' ^1 IH' \, ' ' ! : ■:Vt, •■ *! 11 MoB THE SPIDER WEAVES HIS WEB. this hare-brained cjirl securely in my power, in suck* a way as to make her money the price of her freedom, I would not hesitate one moment about proclaiming it all. But how to get her in my power — she is keen and wide- awake, with all her madness, and not half soeasilyduped as most girls of her age Let me think !" His liead fell lower, his claw-like hands opened and shut as though clutching some one, his brows knit in a hard knot, and his eyes seemed burning holes in the ground, with their wicked, immovable gaze. At last, his mind seemed to be made up. Lifting his head, he said, with calm, grim determination : " Yes, my mind is made up ; that — girl — shall — be— my — WIFE !'* Again he paused. His project, when repeated aloud, seemed so impossible to accomplish that it almost startled him. ** It may be difficult to bring about," he said, as if is answer to his momentary hesitation. " No doubt it will ; but, nevertheless, it shall, it will, it must be done ! Once her husband, and I shall have a legal right to everything she possesses. The world need not know I have made the discovery until after our marriage ; it shall think i: is for love I marrj' her. Love ! — ha, ha, ha ! Just fancj Dr. Wiseman^ at the age of fifty-nine, falling in lovt with a chit of a girl of seventeen ! Well, I shall set my wits to work ; and if I fail to accomplish it, it will be the first time I have ever failed in aught I have undertaken. She calls me a spider ; let her take care lest she bs caught — lest her bright wings are imprisoned in the web I will weave. Her opposition will be fierce and firm ; and, if I have studied her aright, she can only be conquered through those she loves. That she loves that whipper-snapper of a nephew of mine, I have long known ; and yet that very love shall make her become in suck a reedom, I ling it all. and wide sily duped )ened and knit in a les in the Lrifting his hall — be- lted aloud, it almost id, as if in ibt it will ; le ! Once very thing lave made ill think i: Just fancj ig in lovt lall set my ^rill be the idertaken. ;st she bs in the web and firm ; only be loves that lave long er become TffB SPIDER WEAVES HIS WEB, to^ my wife. And so my bright little Gipsy Gower — or Gipsy Oranmore — from this day forth you arc mine I" «« Look here, ai4nty," said Gips), following Mrs Gower, as she wandered tli rough the house, brush in hand, " what brings that old spider here so often of late ? He and Guardv appear to be as thick as two pickpockets — though, a few years ago, Guardy detested the sight of him. They are for everlasting closeted together, plotting something. Now, aunty, it looks suspicious, don't it?" " I am afraid Dr. Wiseman is drawing your guardian intD some rash speculation," said Mrs. Gower. "The squire is always muttering about 'stocks,' and inter- est,' and such thin<^s. I am afraid the doctor is using him for his own purposes. Heaven forgive me if I vrrong him !" " Wrong him ! I tell you, aunty, that Spider's a regular snake. I wouldn't trust him as far as I could see him. He has a way of looking at me that I don't half like. Whenever I'm in the room he stares and stares at me, as if I were some natural curiosity. Per- haps he's falling in love with me. There ! I tell you what, aunty — I've just hit the right thing in the middle — he's meditating whether or not he'll raise me to the dignity of Mrs. Spider Wiseman — I know he is !" ex- claimed Gipsy, laughing, little dreaming how near she had stumbled to the truth. " Nonsense, child, A man of Dr. Wiseman's age and habits has littlr thought of taking a wife, much less such a wild one as you. I hope it may all turn out well, though I have my doubts." "So have I," said Gipsy ; "and I'm going to keeya bright lookout for breakers ahead. If that yellow old •gre tiies to bamboozle poor, dear, simple Guardy, he'll find himself in a worse scrape than when I saved hiaa^ |:« I 1, H. !"■ ■1?.' (' V ."<•' II '1 1 ' 1 ■ • ' III I' .:«f ■p Hi H t ; ' I J 1 i ' r J *' flio TB'E srrnFR wfavrs hts wbb,\ liom droTV living. T know T was bo^n to be a knif^ht' errant, and protect, iniiocent old men, and astonisk the world generally. And now I niubt run up stairs, and see if I can do anyihiiii^ for poor little Aunt Liz." While Gipsy was C(;nversing with Mrs. Gower, a dia- logue of a dilforcnt n.'iMire was going on in ihe parlor betwixt the squire :iiid llie doctor. Artfully had Dr. \V^iseinan's plans been laid, and skillfully were they executed. With his oily, persuasive words, and ilatterin',!; tt^ngue, he jjad got the squire com- pletely and irrecoverably in his power, in order that the hand of his ward niiglii be the price of his freedom. Dr. Wiseman knew the squire always had a mania for speculnting. Taking advantage of this, he entrapped him into investing in some mad scheme, which failed, as the doctor well knew it u'ould, leaving the squire hope- lessly in debt. Oi ail his creditors he owed the doctor himself the most ; tor that obliging man had insisted on lending hirn large sums of ready money. And now the time of payment was at hand, and where shou)d he ob- tain the money ? Squire Erliston was rich — that is, the estate of Mount Sunset was in itself a princely fortune ; but this was to descend to his grandson ; and the squire had too much pride to allow it to gt) to him burdened with debt. Neither could he mortgage any part of it to pay oil the debt. He felt that his heir ought not to suffer for his own mad- ness. Besides, he did not wish his grandson to know how egregiously he had allowed himself to be duped by A set of sharperb. Therefore he now sat listening to the doctor, half-s:u'peiied at learning the extent of his losses — the amount of debts w}i^:h he had no means of paying; while ttie doctor condoled with him outwardly, and chuckled inwardly at the success of his plans. ** Moore, to whom y^u are indebted to the amount o( THE SPfPER WEAVES HIS WSB. an iv7cnLy thousand d'Hars, c\'en goes so far as to threaten l;i\v prtjcccdiiigs if he is not immediately paid/' said the doctor, continuing the conversation. The squire groaned. " 1 told him it might not be convenient foi you to meet so many heavy liabilities at once : but he would not listen to reason — said he would give you a week to deliberate, and if at the end of that time the money was not forthcoming, your rascality^ as he termed it, should be openly proclaimed to the world, and the law would force you to pay." ** Oh, Lord !" said the squire, writhing inwardly. " His intention, without doubt, is to obtain aclaim on Mctor Wise- ae of death Doctor Wiseman is no old cgre, out a daik'Complex- ioned " " Saffron, saffron Guardy ! Tell the truth, now, %\'i^ shame your master. Isn't it saffron ?" '* I'll brain you ."f you don't stop ! A man can't get in a word edgeways with you. Dr. Wiseman, minx, has :!one you the honor to propose for your hand. I have 'jonsented, and " But the squire broke off suddenly, in a towering rage — for Gipsy, after an incredulous stare, burst into a shout of laughter that made the house ring. Pressing her hands to her sides, she laughed until the tears ran down her cheeks ; and, at last, unable to stop, she rolled off her seat on to the floor, and tumbled over and over in a per- fect convulsion. " Oh, you little aggravation 1 Will you stop?" cried the squire, seizing her by the shoulder, and shaking her until she was breatliless. " Oil, Guardy, that's too good I Marry me ? Oh, I declare, I'll split my sides I" exclaimed Gipsy, going into another fit of laughter, as she essayed in vain to rise. " Gipsy Gower ! Cease your folly for a moment, and rise up and listen to me," said the squire, so sternly that Gipsy wiped the tears from her eyes, and pressing her hands to her sides, resumed her seat. '* Gipsy, I do not wish you to consider me a boaster but you know I have done a great deal for yau, brought you up, educated you, and intended leaving you a for- tune at my death " " Thank you, Guardy ; couldn't you let mc have part of it now ?" " Silence, I tell you ! Gipsy, tnis is what I intendea doing ; but, child, I have become involved in debt Mount Sunset will be taken from me, and jou, and Louis, and the rest of us will be beggan." M \\\ • ■ .; S";< » M i" t lis ii i i i' ' \ 1 i.':i III m lit-- 1 t:3 FETTERS FOR THE EAGLET, Up fievv Gipsy's eyebrows, open flew her eyes, and down dropped her chin, in unfeigned amazement. *' Yes," continued the squire, '* you may stare, butit'i true. yVnd now, Gipsy, since yc \ told me you were not ungrateful — now is the time to prove it, by saving me and all your friends from ruin." "/ save you from ruin ?" said Gipsy, staring with all her eyes, and wondering if " Guardy " was wandering^ in his mind. " Yes, you. As I told you, I am involved in debt, which it is utterly impossible for me to pay. Now, Doc- tor Wiseman, who has fallen in love with my fairy, has offered to pay my debts if you will marry him. Don't laugh, don't., as I see you are going to do — ^this is no time for laughter, Gipsy." " Oh, but Guardy, that's too funny I The idea of me, a little girl of seventeen, marrying a man of sixty — specially such a man as Spider Wiseman ! Oh, Guardy it's the best joke of the season !" cried Gipsy, buksting into another immoderate fit of laughter. '* Ungrateful, hard-hearted girl 1" said the squire, with tears actually in his stormy old eyes ; " this is your return fcr all I have done for you ! You, the only living being who can save those who have been your best friends from being turned out of the old homestead, instead of rejoicing in being able to do it, you only laugh at him in scorn, you — " the squire broke down fairly here. Never had the elf seen the usually violent old man so moved. A pang shot through her heart for her levity ; and the next moment her arms were round his neck, and her white handkerchief wiping away the tears of which he xvas ashamed. * Dear — dear Guardy, I'm so sorry ! I never thought you felt so bad about it. I'll do anything in the world FETTERS FOR THE EAGLET, "> 'i ^ to help you ; I'm not ingrateful. What do you want me tc do, Guardy ?" " To j.ave me, by marrying Doctor Wiseman, my 5ear." " Oh, Guardy, oh, Guardy ! You surely weren't se- rious in pjroposing that?" exclaimed Gipsy, really aston- ished. " Serious ? Alas ! I was never so serious before in my life. You will do this, Gipsy?" " Oh, Guardy ! Marry him f Heaven forbid !" ex- claimed Gipsy, with a violent shudder. "Then you will let us all be turned out from the old roof-tree — out into the world to die ; for, Gipsy, if the old place is taken from me, I should break my heart through grief !" "Oh, Guardy, it won't be so bad as that ! Surely something can be done ? How much do you owe ?" " More than I dare mention. Child, nothing can be done to save us unless you consent to this marriage." " Oh ! that is too horrible even to think of. Can you not write to Louis ? I'm sure he could do something to save us." " No, he could do nothing ; and he must never know it at all. Even supposing he could, before a letter could reach him we would be publicly disgraced — I should be branded as a rogue, and turned out of doors to die. No, Gipsy, unless you consent, before the week is out, to be- v^me the bride of Docto- Wiseman, all hope will be over. And though afterward, by some hitherto unheard-of miracle, the property should be restored to us, I should not live to see it ; for if you persist in refusing, Gipsy, I will die by my own hand, sooner than live to be brand- ed like a feion. And Lizzie and Mrs. Gower, who love you so well, how do you think they could live, knowing that all had been lost through your ingratitude ! Louis^ r: -1 ]^ A - I u • { . i 1 I 1 3 M \ »ao FET7ERS FOR THB EAGLET. too, your foster-brother, how will he look on the girl whose obstinacy will make him a beggar ? Consent and all will be well, the gratitude and love cf an oM man will bless you through life ; refuse, and my death will be on your soul, haunting you through all your cheerless, unblessed life." With all the eloquence and passion of intense selfish* ness he spoke, while each word burned into the heart and soul of his listener. She was pacing up and down the floor, half-maddened by his words, while the word in- gratitude seemed dancing in living letters of fire before her. " Oh ! what shall I do ? What shall I do ?" she cried, wringing her hands wildly. " Let me advise you ; I am older and have had ex- perience, and a claim on your obedience. Marry Doctor Wiseman ; he is, I know, somewhat older than you, but you need a man of age and wisdom. He is rich, and loves you ; and with him, conscious that you have done your duty, you will be blessed by God, and be happy." " Happy !" she broke in, scornfully, "and with him ! Happy !" '' It ii the first favor I ever asked of you, Gipsy, and i know you will not refuse. No one must know of it. not one, save Lizzie and Mrs. Gower. You must not breathe it to a living soul, save them." " Guardy, there is some guilt or mystery connected with this debt. What is it V* ** I cannot tell you now, child , when you have obeye«l me, I will. Come, Doctor Wiseman will be here for your answer to-morrow. Shall I tell him you have con- sented ?" "Oh ! no, no ! no, no ! Go«d heaTom !" ths cried thuddering^iy. connected FETTERS FOR THE EAGLET. atf *' Gipsy ! Gipsy ! consent. I implore you, by a I you hold dear on earth, and sacred *n heaven, to coasent !" he said, witli wild vehemence. "Oh! I cannot ! I cannot: I cannot/ Oh, Guardy, do not urge me to this living death," she cried passion* ately. " Then you can see me die, child. This, then, is youi gratitufle !" he said, bitterly. "Oh, Guardy, you will not die ! I will work for you — yes, I will toil night and day, and work my fingers to the bone, if need be. I can work more than you wouM think." " It would be useless, worse than useless. I should X live to make you work for me. Refuse, if you will, and go through life with the death of a fellow-creature on your soul." " Oh ! I wish I had never been born," said Gipsy wringing her pale fingers in anguish. " Consent ! consent ! Gipsy, for my sake ! For the sake of the old man who loves you !" She did not reply ; she was pacing up and down the room like one half-crazed, with wild, excited eyes, and flushed cheeks. '* You do not speak. * Silence gives consent,' as Sol- omon says," said the squire, the ruling habit still " strong in death." " Let me think ! You must give me time, Guardy ! 1 will go to my room now, and to-morrow you shall have my answer." " Go, then ; I know it will be favorable. I dare not think otherwise. To-morrow morning I will know." " Yes, to-morrow," said Gipsy, as she left the reoa and fled wildly up ■ \ ■ ' -n 1 ■■t ; ' 1 r •V At ■^ 1 ■ .. •,- ii: m iMf r *i li! II fltfl r^;^ /?AA»;9 CAGED, " To-morrow," said (he old sinner, looking aftei her. " And what will thai answer be ? ' Who can tell what a day may bring forth ?' as Solomon says." CHAPTER XXII. THE UIRD CAGED. "Lay on him the curse of a withered heart, The curse of a sleepless eye ; Till he wish and pray that his life woald part, Nor yet find leave to die." — ScoTT. lORNING came. The sqiiire sat in the break- fast parlor, impatiently waiting for the com- ing of Gipsy. He waited in vain. The mo. mcnts liew on ; still she came not. Losing patience at last, he caught the bell- rope and rang a furious peal. Five minutes after the black face and woolly head of Totty appeared in the door- way. " Totty, Where's your young mistress ?" " Here !" answered the voice of Gipsy herself, as she stood, bright and smiling, behind Totty. Somehow, that smile alarmed the old man, and he began trembling for the decision he had so anxiously been expecting. "Well, come in. Clear out, Totty. Now, Gipsy, your decision." ''Now, Guardy, wait until after breakfast. How is any one to form an opinion on an empty stomach, I'd like to know ? There, don't get into a fidget about it, ai I see you're going to do, because it's no use." THE BIRD CAGED. ««J &ftei her. 11 what I ic break- the com- The mo- the bell- after the d in the If, as she , and he nxiously psy,your How is nach, I'd 3ut it, ai «« « But, Gipsy, tell me — will it be favorable Y* That depends upon circumstances. If I have a good appetite for my breakfast I may probably be in good- humoi enough to say yes to ever^'ching you propose ; if not, I trembic for you, Guardy, Visions of blunt pen- knives and bulletlcss pistols flash in * awful array' before rny mind's eye. Shall I ring the bell for Aunty Gower ?" ** I suppose so," growled the old man ; " you are ac contrary as Balaam's ass." " Guardy, look out ! Don't compare me to any of your ancestors." At this moment Mrs. Gower entered, followed by Lizzie, now an invalid, wrapped up in numberless shawls, until she resembled a mummy. The squire had informed them both, the night before, how matters stood ; and they glanced anxiously at Gipsy, as they entered, to read, if possible, her decision in her countenance. Nothing could they guess from that little dark, sparkling face, as vivacious and merry as ever. When breakfast was over Mrs. Gower and Mrs. Oranmore quitted the room, leaving Gipsy alone with the squire. " Now, Gipsy, now," he exclaimed, impatiently. " Guardy," said Gipsy, earnestly, " all last night I lay awake, trying to find out where my path of duty lay ; jind, Guardy, I have come to the conclusion that I can- not add to your sin, if you have committed one, by a still greater crime. I cannot perjure myself, before God's holy altar, even to save you. Guaruy, I always loathed and detested this man — this Dr. Wiseman ; and now I would sooner die by slow torture than be his wife. Your threat cf suicide I know you will not fulfill — 'twas but idle words. But even had you been serious, it would W all the same ; for sooner than niarry that man I would ;r l«l ♦ 'ii •t4 r/TB BTRD CAGRDk plunge a dug^ger into my own heart and let cut my llfc'i blood. I do not speak hastily, for I have done that which I seldom do — thought before I spoke. If we really, as you say, become poor, I am willing to leave tny wild, free life, my horses, hounds, and the * merry greenwood,.' to become a toiling kitchen brownie for your sake. Do not interrupt me, Guardy ; nothing you can say can change my purpose. I am not ungrateful but I cannot commit a crime in the face of high heaven, even for the sake of those I love best. Tell my decision to Dr. Wiseman. And now, Guardy, this subject must be forever dropped between us, for you have heard ray ultimatum." And without /aiti ng for the words that were ready to burst forth, she arose, bent her graceful little head, and walked out of the room. As she went up-stairs, on her way to her own room, she passed Lizzie's chamber. Mrs. Oranmore caught sight of her through the half-opened door, and called her. " Gipsy, my love, come in here." Gipsy went in. It was a pleasant, cheerful room, with bright pictures on the walls, and rich crimsoi: damask hangings in the window. Lizzie Oranmore, as fl^e lies on h^r lounge, enveloped in a large, soft shawl, fs not much like the Lizzie, the bright little coquette, w 3 once knew. A pale, faded creature she is now, with fallow cheeks, and thin, pinched face. " Well, my dear," said Mrs. Oranmore, anxiously, " papa has mentioned this shocking affair to rac. What has been your answer to D •. Wiseman's proposal?" " Oh, aunty, what could it be but no t You didn't •uppose I'd many that ugly old daddy-long-legs, did you ? Why, aunty, when i get marned — which I never will if I can help it — for I would be ever free— it must bs THE BIRD CAGSJD. ■«l to a lord, dul:c, or a Sir Harry, or something mbove th« common. Just fancy such a little bit of a thing like me boini^ tied for life to a detestable old Bluebeard like Spider. Net I, indeed !" said the elf, at fbe danced around the room and gayly sang : '* An old man, an old man, will never do for in«, For iviay and December can never agree." ** But Gipsy, my dear, do you not know that we are to be turned out, if you refuse ?" said Lizzie, in blank dismay. " Well, let us be turned out, then. I will be turned out, but I won't marry that old death's-head. I'm young and smart, and able to earn my own living, thank good- ness !" '* Oh, ungrateful girl, will you see me die ? For, Gipsy, if I am deprived now, in my illness, of the com- forts to which I have always been accustomed, I shall die." "Oh, no, you won't, aunty. I don't think that things are as bad as Guardy makes them appear ; and, even if they were. Dr. Wiseman, old wretcn as ne is, would let you remain." "No, he would not, child; you don't know the re- vengeful disposition of that man. Oh, Gipsy, by the nnomory of all we have done for you, I beseech you to nonscnt !" '' Aunty, aunty, I cannot ; it is too dreadful even to think about. Oh, aunty, I cannot tell you how I loathe, abhor, and detest that hideous old sinner !" " Gipsy, that is wrong — that is sinful. Dr. Wisemaa is a highly respectable gentleman — rather old for you, it is true — but of what difference is a few years? He la rich, and loves you well enough to gratify your ever; wiih. What more would you have ?" 10* t 1 I 1 1 . i '! |: i 1 » ■ ' i » I «' li " t'. ■ t aa6 THE BIRD CAGED. ** Happiness, annty. I should be atterl/ iniiermbl« with him." "Nonsense, child, you only think so. It is not as if you were older, and loved somebody else. People Dftci. marry those they don't care about, and grow quite foivi of them after .n time. Now, 1 shouldn't be surprised : you grew quite fond of Dr. Wiseman by and by." Gipsy lauLjhed her own merry laugh again as si.;. heard Lizzie's words "Oh, Gipsy, you thouglitless creature! is this your bnswer to my petition ?" said Lizzie, putting her hand- kerchief to her eyes. " Leave me, then. I will not long survive your ingratitude ; but, mark me, your name will Decome a by-word, far and near, and descend to posterity branded with the disgrace of your ungrateful conduct. Go — leave me ! Wliy should you stay to witness the misery you have caused?" Poor Gipsy ! how these reproaches stung ner. She started to her feet, and began pacing the floor rapidly, crying wildly : "Oh, Heaven help me I I know not what to do ! I wish I were dead, sooner than be branded thus as an in- gr ite !" Lizzie's sobs alone broke the stillness of the room, it last, unable to endure them longer, she rushed out and sought refuge in her own chamber. As she entered she saw Mrs. Gower seated by the window — a look of trouble and sadness on her usually happy, good-natured face. '• Oh ! aunty, what shall I do ? Oh ! aunty, I am going crazy, I think !" cried Gipsy, distressedly, half maddened by the sight of Lizzie's tears. "My clear, it is very plain what you must do. You must marry Dr. Wiseman," said Mrs. Gower, gravely. " Oh ! aunty, have you turned aj^ainst me» too ? 'Then I miierable I not as a !ople Dfter. quite fonJ urpris::i >y" ain as &!.:: this your her hand- 1 not long - name will posterity 1 conduct, vitness the ner. She or rapidly, t to do ! I IS as an in^ the room, rushed out she entered —a look of od-natureti I am going maddened t do. You gravely. oo? Then r//E BIRD CAG£J>. ••I I i I I hive no friend in the wide world I Oh ! wlih— •/ mfisA I had never been born !" " My love, don't tiilk n that way ; it is aot only very foolish, but vei/ sinful. Dr. Wiseman is certainly not the man I would wish to see you married to; but, you perceive, there is no alternative. Gipsy, I am getting old, so is the squire ; Mrs. CJranmore is ill, and I do not think she will live long. Will you, therefore, allow the old man and woman — who love you above all human beings — and a poor, weak invalid, to be turned upon the charity of the cold world to die? Gipsy, you know if we could save you from misery, we would coin our very hearts' blood to do it." " And, oh, aunt ! could there be greater misery foi me than that to which you are urging me?" " You talk like the thoughtless girl you arc, Gipsy. How often, for wealth oi social position merely, or to raise their friends from want, do young girls marry old men ! Yet, you refuse to save us from worse than want, from disgrace and death — yes, death I I know what I am saying, Gipsy — you obstinately refuse. Gipsy, my child, for my sake do not become such a monster of ingrati- tude, but consent." "Oh, aunty! leave me. I feel as if I were going mad ! Every one in the world seems to have turned against me — even you / Oh, aunty, dear, good aunty ! don't talk to me any more ; my very brain seems on fire." " Yes ; your cheeks are burning, and your eyes arc like fire — you are ill and feverish, my poor little fairy. Lie down, and let me bathe your head." " No, no, aunty, don't mind. Oh { what matter is it whether I am ill or not? If it wasn't for you, and Guardy, and ail the rest, I feel as if I should like to li« down and die !" ii?fll I , , ' \ »H . ; .< ■ I ■ 1.'-;,. » W. ■ I m t (; I I n M« Tir£ BTRD CAGSB. " My own little daring, you must not talk ol dying ; every one has trouble in this world, and you cannot ex- pect to escape !" " Yes ; I know, I know ! Hitherto, life has been to me a fairy dream • and now this terrible awakening to reality I Life setaied to me one long, golden summer day ; and now — and now " " You are excited, love ; lie down, and try to sleep—, you talk too much." " Yes, I know ; I always did talk too much ; but I do not think I will ever talk much again. Oh, aunty ! I have heard of the heart-ache, but I never knew what it was before !" " My love, you must not feel this so deeply. How wild your eyes are ! and your hands are burning hot I Do lie down, and try to rest." " Rest ! rest ! Shall I ever find rest again?*' " Of course you will, my dear. Now what shall I tell the squire is your decision about this ? I promised him to talk to you about it." " Oh, aunty, don'i — don't ! Leave me alone^ and let me think — I cannot talk to you now !" " Shall I bring you up ice for your head, my dear ?*' " No, no ; you have already brought ice for my heart, aunty — that is enough." " You talk wildly, love ; I am afraid your mind is nJisoracred.'* *' Don't mind my talk, dear aunty, I always was a crazy, elfish changeling, without a heart, you know. Nobody minds what I say. Only leave mc now ; I will be better by and by." With a sigh Mrs. Gower left the room. It was strange that, loving her poor little fay as she did, she should urge her to this wretched marriage ; but the •quire had talked and persuaded her until he brought hex »ur mind is THE BIRD CAGED. «M to «ce the matter with his eyes. And poor Gipsy w^as left alone to pace up and down the room like oae de- ranged, wringing her hands, while her cheeks and eyes burned wilii the fire of fever. '* Oil, if Archie wculd only come !" was the wild cry if her aching heart, as she walked restlessly to and fro. But Archie was away ; she knew not even his present addre , and she was left to battle against the dark decree of fate alone. '*! will seek Dr. Wiseman ; I will beg, I will implore him to spare me, and those who would have me make this fatal sacrifice. Surely his heart is not made of stone ; he cannot resist my prayers !" So, waiting in her room until she saw him ride up tc the Hall, she descended the stairs and entered the parlor, where he and the squire sat in close conversation to- gether, and formally desired the honor of a private inter- view. He arose, and, bowing, followed her into the draw- mg-room. Motioning him to a scat she stood before him, her little form drawn up to its full height, her de- fiant, dark eyes fixed on his repulsive face with undis- guised loathing. "Dr. Wiseman." she began, "I haye heard of this proposal which you have honored me by making. Be- lieve me, I fully appreciate the honor you have done me '"—and her beautiful lip curled scornfully — "even wliile I must decline it. A silly little girl like me is un- worthy to be raised to the dignity of the wife of so dis- tinguished a gentleman as Dr. Wiseman !" The doctor acknowledged the compliment by* g^ave bow, while Gipsy continued : " My guardian has informed me that, unless I consent to this union he will lose Mount Sunset, be i educed to poTerty, and consequently, die, he says. You, it seema^ 1 ' ,- ; • •; » 'A .-»' ■ ta* ■ ' -• * 1 t .....: f^ , * '-M''*-': '» V » ■ ■' "1 * - ■^ -^. * 1 'h ir^-. ■i •'V;--.- % '.•5l/*'* -i • U\ V m ''« 1 , 1 *$o THE BIRD CAGED, wiL prevent this, if I marry you. >Jow, Dr. Wueinao, knowinved you — that was plain to every one. This Danvers came along and fell in lo'^e with you, toe — that, likewise, can be duly proved, ^our preference for the young sailor was observable from the first. Ri* -w W 1 f ■ I' i ■■ 'r. ■ Hfv! IP If V -. IW % ' ,■ 1*1 ,'•;. ■ 1 '1 ♦ ' ; '■ ' 1 V t »• f 1 ::M U?' ' ■i 1 I ' ' ti «32 rjy^' i?7^Z> CAGED, ers was jealous, and I know many who can prove ac of ten uttered threavS of future vengeance against the mid shipman. On the oiglit of the murder y Archie was ob- served riding from here, in a violent rage. Half an hour afterward the sailor went for a ride over the hills. I can %u:£ar that Archie Rivers followed him. I know he was not at home until late. Most probably, therefore, he followed Diinvers, and murdered him treacherously. Jealousy will make a man do almost anythinp^. In a court of justice, many more things than this can be proved ; and if he dies on the scaffold, his blood will be upon your head." Gipsy stood listening to his terrible words with blanched face, livid lips, and horror-stricken eyes. For a moment he thought she would faint. The very power of life seemed stricken from her heart ; but, by a powerful effoit, she aroused herself from the deadly faintness creeping over her, and exclaimed, in a voice low with unspeakable horror : " Fiend — demon incarnate ! would you perjure your own £ Dul ! Would you become the murderer of your own nephew ?" " Murderer, forsooth ! Is that what you call legal justice ?" " It would not be legal justice ! Doctor Wiseman, ] tell you, if you say Archie Rivers killed Danvers, j^ou He ! Yes, meanest of vile wretches, I tell you, you He !" He leaped to his feet, glaring with rage, as though he would spring upon her, and rend her limb from limb. Before him she stood, her little form drawn dp to its full height, deliant and daring — her dark fac<, glaring with scorn and hatred. For a moment they stood thus —-he quivering with impotent rage— she, proud, defying, :i;i THE BIRD CAGED. 333 and (earless. Then, sinking into his seat, le said, with istern calmness : '' No — I will restrain myself ; but, daring giri, listen to me. As sure as yonder heaven is above us, if you reiuse, so surely sliall Squire Erliston and all belong' ing to Iiini be turned from their home — to die, if they will ; and A'-chibald Rivers shall perish by the hand of the hangman, scorned and hated by all, and knowing that you, for whom he would have given his life, have brought him to the scaffold, Gipsy Gower, his blood will cry for vengeance from the earth against you !" He ceased. There was a wild, thrilling, intense sol- emnity in his tone, that made the blood curdle. One look at his fiendish face would have made you think Satan himself was before you. And Gipsy ! She had dropped, as if suddenly stricken by an unseen hand, to the floor ; her face changed to the ghastly hue of death, the light dying out in her eyes . her very life seemed passing away from the blue, quiver- ing lips, from which no sound came ; a thousand ages of suffering seemed concentrated in that one single mo- ment of intense anguish. But no spark of pity entered the heart that exulted in her agony. No ; a demoniacal joy flashed from his snake-like eyes as he beheld that free, wild, untamed spirit broken at last, and lying in anguish at his feet. "This struggle is the last. Now she will yield," war? his thought, as he watched her. " Gipsy !" he called. She writhed at the sound of his Toice. " Gipsy !" he called again. This time she looked up, lifting a face so like that of death that he started back involuntarily. '' What ?" she asked, in a low, hollow voice of do< •pair. I ^% i n' ' I ' r \f' a r m t "' ITil, 1 1' •n .];.. h {\ l" ■■' ■ f* > \ -, ' t i j ' 1 i > ]' 1 1 .1 i! . 'l -iM :'• 1 1 »■. , •■■ ! ■ M4 s«- TWi^ -9y^Z? CAG£D. " Do you consent ?" She arose, and walked over until she sicod before him. Appalled by her look, he arose in alarm and drew back. '* Consent !" she repeated, fixing her wi.d eyes on his frightened face ; *' yes, I consent to the living death of a T.arri.ige with you. And, Dr. Wiseman, mar my curse .jr:d the curse of Heaven cling to you like a garment of lire, now and forevermore, burning your miserable soul like a flame in this life, and consigning you to everlast- ing perdition in the next ! May every torture and suf- ferinQ that man can know follow the wronged orphan's cu;se ! In this life I will be your deadliest enemy, and in the next I will bear witness against you at the throne of God I To your very grave, and beyond, my undying hatred and revenge i<\\ the wrong you have done me shall be yours ; and now I wish you joy of your bride !" She passed from the room like a spirit ; and Dr. Wiseman, terrified and appalled, sank into a chair, with the vision of tliat death-like face, with its blazing eyes and wild, maniac words and wilder stare, haunting him until he shuddered with superstitious terror. ♦* What a wife I will have !" he muttered ; "a perfect little fiend. Mount Sunset will be dearly enough pur- chased with that young tempest for its mistress. The Sery spirit of the old Oranmores runs in her veins— f hat's certain. And now, as there is nothing like strik- injcr the iron while it's hot, I'll go and report my success ic> that old dotard, the squire, and have the wedding-day f>jr»d as ::.oon as possible " MAY AND DECEMBJUt. til ■ ' !■ ■ f ::. f 11' i cod before 1 and drew yes on his death of a my curse arment of Table soul everlast- and suf^ d orphan's nemy, and the throne y undying B done me ir bride !" ; and Dr. chair, with azing eyes nting him *a perfect ough pur- ress. The ler veins — like strik- ay success dding-day CHAPTER XXIV. MAY AND DECEMBIR. * 8he looked to the river — looked to the hill— And thought on the spirit's prophecy ; Then broke the sileiict; stern and still : * Not you, but Fr'.e, has vanquished me.'" Lay op thk Last Mikstux. lELESTE, Celeste ! do not leave me. Oh ! all the world has left me, and will you go, too ? This heart — this re-stless, beating heart — will it never stop aching? Oh, Ce- leste ! once I thought I had no heart ; but by this dull, aching pain where it should be, I know I must have had one some time. Stay with me. Ce- leste. You are the only one in the world left for me to love now." Gipsy — small, fair and fragile, with her little wan face and unnaturally lustrous eyes — lay mo.ining rest- lessly on her low couch, like some tempest-tossed soul quivering between life and death. Like an angel of light, by her side knelt Celeste, with her fair, pitying fact and her soft blue eyes, from which the tears fell on the small brown fingers that tightly clasped hers. " Dear Gipsy, I will not leave you ; but you know fou must get up and dress soon.** " Oh, yes ; but not yet. It is so nice to lie here, and have you bsside me. I am so tired, Celeste — I have never rested since I made that promise. It seems as if ever since I had been walking and walking on through tlie dark, unable to stop, with such an aching here.'* And she pressed her hand to the poor quivering heart » ( :, n-l » , /'■ ■ I I r ■(! : ' r % .1 .1 1 I ' e 1 ; J* i|H|H, 1 ' j i 1' ' I^H 1 i ' iHh 1 1 ' ! f' iMJ i V ! ' 1 ' J i ■ ' 'i ■J. ■ t 1 ; ^ i (I l» i i i 1 1 >r"! tjd i^i4K AuVD DECEMBBM, that was fluttering to escape from the heavy chain fate was drawing tigiuer and tighter around it. " What ran I do for you, Cipsy ?" said Celeste, stoop- ing and kissing her pale lips, while two pitying drops Kcl! frv->m her eyes on the poor little face below her. " Don't cry for me, Celeste. I never wept for myself yet. Sing ior me, dear friend, the ' Evening Hymn ' wc used to sing at the Sisters' school, long ago." Forcing back her tears. Celeste sang, in a voice low and sweet as liquid music : "Ave sanctissima I We lilt our souls to thee— Ora pro nobis, Bright star of the sea ! Watch us while shadows lie Far o'er the waters spread ; Hear the heart's lonely sigh— Thine, too, hath bled l" Gipsy listened, with her eyes closed, an expression of peace and rest falling on her dark, restless face, until Celeste ceased. " h, Celeste, I always feel so much better uud hap- pier when you are with me — not half so much of a heart- less imp as at other times," said Gipsy, opening her eyes. "I wish I could go and live with you and Miss liagar at Valley Cottage, or enter a convent, or any- where, to be at peace. While you sang I almost fancieu aayself back again at school, listening to those dear, kind sisters singing that beautiful * Evening Hymn.' " She paused, avid murmured, dreamily: * Watch us while shadows lie Far o'er the waters spread ; Hear the heart's lonely sigh — Thine, too, hath bled 1'^ " Dear Gipsy, do not be so sad. Our Heavenly Father, perhaps, has but sent you this trial ^o |mrify your MAY AND DECBMMEM, m heart and make it His own. In the time of jt^u.r. and happiness we are apt ungratefully to forget the Author of all good gifts, and yield the heart that should be His to idols of clay. But ic» the days of sorrow and suffering we stretch out our arms to Him ; and He, for- getting the past, takes us to his bosom. And, dearest Gipsy, shall we shrink from treading through trials and sufferings in the steps of the sinless Son of God, to that home of rest and peace that He died to gain for us?" Her beautiful face was transfigured, her eyes radiant, her lips glowing with the fervor of the deep devotion with which she spoke. "I cannot feel as you do, Celeste, said Gipsy, turning restlessly. *' I feel like one without a light, groping my way in the dark — like one who is blind, hastening to my own doom. I cannot look up ; I can see into the dark grave, but no farther." " Light will come yet, dear friend. Every cloud has Its silver lining." " Never for me. But, hark ! What is that ?" Celeste arose, and went to the window. " It is the carriages bringing more people. The par- lors below are full. You must rise, 8i::id dress for your bridal, Gipsy." " Would to heaven it were for my burial ! I am m tired, Celeste. Must I get up ?" " Yes, dear Gipsy ; they are waiting for you. I will dress you myself," said Celeste, as Gipsy, pale, wan, and spirituelle, arose from her couch, her little, slight figure smaller and slighter than ever. Rapidly moved the nimble fingers of Celeste. The dancing dark locks fell in short, shining curls around the superb little head, making the pale face of the bride look paler still by contrast Then Celeste went into her \:\ ' %■■■'■ \ i 1 1 ■I'i 1 ^i' ■ 1: •niif il ■X I i I 1 M'i ' v\ 1 t :! !;:1 J ' ' »3» AfAV AN-D DECEMBSR. wardrobe and brought forth the jewels, the white vail, the orange blossoms, iiiul the rich rcbes of while bro cade, frosted with seed pearls, and laid them on the bcl "What IS that white dress for?" demanded Gipsy, abruptly, looking up from a reverie into which she had (alien . "" Kor you to wear, of course," replied Celeste, as- tonished at the question. '*A wlute drcis for me! Ha! ha! ha!" she said, with a wilJ laugh. " True, I forgot — when the ancients were about to sacnfico a victim, they robed her in white and crowned her with I'owers. But I will differ from all other victims, and wear a more suitable color. Thix shall be my wedding-dress," said Gipsy, leaving the room, and returning with a dress of black lace. Celeste sliiank bajk from its ominous hue with some- thing like a shudder. *' Oh, not in black ! Oh, Gipsy ! any other color but black for your wedding. Think how you will shock every one," saiil Celeste, imploringly. " Shock them ! Why, Celeste, I've shocked them so continually ever since I was a year old, that when I cease to shock them they won't know Gipsy Gower. And that reminds me that after to-day I will be 'Mad Gips) Gower ' no longer, but Mrs. Doctor Nicholas Wiseman Ha ! ha ! ha ! Wiseman ! how appropriate the name will be ! Oh ! wont I lead him a life — wotCt I make hin^ wish he had never been born — won*t I teach him what i; is to drive a girl to desperation ? He thinks because I am a little thing he can hold me up with one hand — and, by the way. Celeste, his hands always remind me of a lobster's claw stuck into a pump-handle — that he can do what he pleases with me. We'll see I Hook my dress, Celeste. It's a ottv to keep my AdonU waiting, and d'» \ MAY AND DRCEMBHM, n% hite vail, irhiie bro- the bel ed Gjpsy, h she had ;leste, as shr said, ancients in white r from all or. Thii iving the ith some- color but ill shock 1 them so en I cease And that id Gips) IVisemaa he name Dake hi IT) n what i: lecause I nd — and, me of a le can do ly dress, I and d'a \ appoint all these good people who have come to se^ the fun." " Dear Gipsy, do not look and talk so wi-dly. And p:ay, take off that black dress, and wear any other color c'ou wish. People will talk so, you know." " Let *em tf ik then, my dear. They'll only say it's one of Gipsy's vvhims. Besides, it will shock Spider, which is jnst whcU I want. He'll get a few more shocks before ' havj done with him, I rather think. Hook my dres£}, Celeste." With a sigh at the elf's perversity, Celeste obeyed ; and with a sad face, watched the eccentric little bride shake out the folds of her black robe, and fasten a dark crimson belt around her waist. *' Now, if I had a few poppies or marigolds to fasten in my hair, I'd look bewitching ; as I haven't, these must do." And with a high, ringing laugh, she twined a dark, purplish passion-flower amid her shining curls. " Now for my rouge. I must look blooming, you know — happy brides always should. Then it will save me the trouble of blushing, which is something I never was guilty of in my life. No, never mind those pearls* Celeste ; I fear Dr. Wiseman might find them brighter than my eye, which would not do by * no manner of meins.' There ! I'm ready. Who ever saw so bewildering a bride ?" She turned from the mirror, and stood before Celeste, ber eyes shining like stars, streaming with an unnatur- illy blazing light, the pallor of her face hidden by the rouge, the dark passion-flower drooping amid her curls, fit emblem of herself. There was an airy, floating light- ness about her, as if she scarcely felt the ground she walked on — a fire and wildness in her large, dark eyes that made Celeste's heart ache for her. Very beautiful she looked, with her dark, oriental face, shaded by its sable locks, the rich, dark dress falling with classic ele- I' It ■i i U '1 i'lii ■, 'H, ■•< r ','11 J ! I' ). I 1 1 •40 ^//K .4A^n DRCEMBRR. ganct from her round, little w.aist. She looked rs ^\\t stood, bright, tnockin;;, dcfirint, sconiliil — more like some fairy chaui^oliug— some fay of tlie moonlight— tlian a living crciuuio, vvicli a woman's heart. And yet, under that daring, bright cxlerior, a wild, anguished heart lay crushed and qiuvoring, shedding tears of blood, that leaped to the eyt-s to be changed to sparks of fire. " Let us go down," said Celeste, with a sigh. " Yes, let us go. Do you know, Celeste, I read once of a man whom the Indians were going to burn to death at ♦^he stake, and who began cursing them when they led him there for making him wait so long. Now I teel just like that man; since I am to be doomed to the stake — why, the sooner the torture is ovor thf ijciier.* She looked so beautiful, so kowilching, yei su mock- ing and unreal, so like a spirit of air, as she spoke, that, almost expecting to see her vanish from her sight, Celeste caught her in her arms, and gazed upon her with pity- ing, yearning, love-lit eyes, from which the tears were fast falling. '* Don't cry for me, Celeste ; you make me feci mor« like an imp than ever. I really think I must be a family relation of the goblin page we read about in the * Lay ol the Last Minstrel,' for 1 feel like doing as he did, throw- ing up my arras, and crying, * Lost !' I'm sure that gob- lin page would have made his fortune in a circus, since his ordinary mode of walking consisted of leaps of fifty feet high or so. Crying still. Celeste ' Why, I thought I'd make you laugh. Now, Celeste, if you don't dry your eyes, I'll go right up to where Aunty Gower keeps prussic acid for the rats, and commit suicide right off the reel. I've felt I'.ke doing it all the time lately, but never ■o much so as when I see you crying for me. Why, Celeste, I never was worth one tear from those blue eyes, body and bones. What's the use of anybody's grieving Af/I V LVD DFCRMBER. •41 for a iittlc. iiind, liate-hrjiined thing like mc ? J'JJ do rrcll enough ; I'll be pertecily hiippy — see if I don't ! It will be sucii glorious fun, you know, driving Spider mad ! And, oh, 7W//7 1 close him ! Tra ! la, la, la, la, la!" and Gipsy vvakzed airily around the room. At this moincni ihere came a knock at the door. Celeste opened it, and Mrs. Gower, in the well-preserved silk and lace cap she had worn years before to Lizzie Oraiunore's wedding, stood in the doorway. "Oh, Celeste! why don't you hurry? Where is Gipsy? Oh, good gracious, chili! not dressed yet? Wbrtt on earth have you been doing ? The people have been waiting these two hours, almost, in the parlors! Do hurry, for mercy sake, and dress !" "Why, aunty, i am dressed. Don't you sec I am all ready to become Mrs. Wiseman ?" " But my {/far child, that black dress " •' This black dress will do very well — suits my com- plexion best, which is rather of the mulatto order than otherwise ; and it's a pity if a blessed bride can't wear what she likr-b without such a fuss being made about it. Now, aunty, don't begin to lecture — it'll only be a waste of powder and a loss of time ; and I'm impatient to ar- rive at the place of execution." Mrs. Gower sank horrified into a chair, and gazed with a look of despair into the mocking, defiant eyes of the elfm bride. '* Oh, Gipsy ! what ever will the people say ? In a L^ack dress / Good lieavens ! Why, you'll look more like the chief mourner at a funeral than a bride I And what will Dr. Wiseman say ?" " Oh, don't, aunty ! I hope he'll get into a passion, and blow me and everybody else up when he sees it !" cjicd Gipsy, clapping her hands with delight at the idea. *' Oh, dear I oh, dear ! did any one ever know such • II I , s w i r. 1^ 1 , I I > :ll„ I 1 H (■■ :■ ■ Ijlj j :; "!"- ( MS M^y AND DECEMBER, strange girl ? Just to think of throwing^ aside that beautiful dress that your guardian paid a small fortune for, for that common black lace thing, the worst dress you have !" "Aunty — see here! — you may have this 'beautiful dress * when you get married. You're young, and goo»l looking, and substantial, too, and 1 shouldn't wonder if you had a proposal one of these days. With a little letting down in the skirt, acd a little letting out in the waist " " Gipsy, hush \ How can you go oii with such non- sense at such a time ? Miss Pearl, can you not induce her to take olT that horrid black dress?" " I think you had better let her wear it, madam. Miss Gower will not be persuaded." "Well, since it must be so, then come. Luckily, everybody knows vvhat an odd, flighty thing Gipsy is, and therefore will not be so much surprised." ** 1 shoui'l think the world would not be surprised at anytning 1 would do since I have consented to marry that hideous orang-outang, that mockery of man, that death's-head, that 'thing of legs and arms,* that " " Hush ! hush I you little termagant ! What a way to speak .A the man you are going to promise to * love, huno?\ fvud obey,' ' said the profoundly shocked Mrs Gower. *^ LovCf hofwr, and obey! Ha, ha, ha! Oh, won't 1 though, with a vengeance ! Won't I be a pattern wife 1 You'Ti see !" " What do you mean, child ?" " Nothing, aunty," said Gipsy, with a strange smile, *" merely making a meditation. Here we are at the stake at last, and there I peT-jcive Reverend Mr, Goodenough ready to act the part of executioner ; and there, too, is Dr. Wiseman, the victim— who, as he wlU by and by find .-Pt !ffi| MAY AND DECEMBER. «4J rorst dress dam. Miss out, is going to prove himself most decidedly a sillf man to-day. Now, Gipsy Gower, you are going to create a sensation, my dear, though yc u are pretty well accus- tomed to that sort of thing." They had reached the hall by this time, where Dr. Wiseman, Squire Erliston, and a number of others stood. All stared aghast at the sable robes of Gipsy. " Oh ? how is it ? Why, what is the meaniii£r cf this?" demanded the squire, in a rage. " Meaning of what, Guardy ?" '' What do you mean, miss, by wearing that black frock ?" " And what business is it of yourc, sir ?" " You impudent miny ! Go right up stairs and take it off." " I won't do anything of the kind ! There now ! Anybody that doesn't like me in this can let me alone," retorted Gipsy. A fierce imprecation was on the lips of the squire but Dr. Wiseman laid his hand on his arm, and s^d, in bis oiliest tones : ** Never mind her, my dear sir ; let her consult her own taste. I am as willing my bride should wear black as anything else ; she looks bewitching in anything. Come, fairest lady." He attempted to draw her arm within his, but she sprang back, and transfixing him w^*ii a flashing glance she hissed " No ; withered be my arm if it ever rests in yours i Stand aside. Dr. Wiseman ; there is pollution in the very touch of your hand." *' You capricious little fairy, why do yon hate me 10 r "Hate . Don t flatter yourself I hate jon, Dr. Wiw- ■1 » f- ^'■■j'ir,:l .:J:':i'f;i''i «44 MAY AND DECBMBBM, i' ■.<: i n t ! if ' i ! } iM i ! fl I i ^! », ,t (■ I i' .'■■I:, ''■ ^1 ,,■■ i...i man --! despise you too much for that," she replied, her bcautifui lip curliiif^ scornfully. "E-Tcsperatiug little dare-devil that you are !" he ex* claimed, growing white with impotent rage, "take caro that I do not make you repcLt this." " You hideous old fright ! do you dare to threaten now ?" " Yes, and dare to perform, too, if you do liot beware. Keep a guard on your tongue, my lady, or you know who will suffer for it." The fierce retort that hovered on the lip of Gipsy waa checked by their entrance into the drawing-room. Such a crowd as was there, dra-wn together for miles around by the news of this singular marriage. All shrank back and looked at one another, as their eyes fell on the omi- nous garments of the bride, as she walked in, proudly erect, beside her grinrt bridegroom. "Beauty and the Beast!" "Vulcan and Venus!'' "May and December!" were the whispers that went round the room as they appeared. The Rev. Mr. Goodenough approached, and the bridal party stood before him — the doctor glancing uneasily at his little bride, who stood with her flashing eyes riveted to the floor, her lips firmly compressed, proud, erect and haughty. The marriage ceremony commenced, and Mr. Good* flmough, turning to the doctor, put the usual question : " Nicholas Wiseman, wilt thou have Aurora Gower, here present, to be thy wedded wife, to have and to hold, for better for worse, lor richer, for poorer, in sickness and healtli, until death doth you part l * " Yes," was the reply, loud, clear, and QiJ'ttnct Turning to the bride the c ^rgyman demanded ; ** Aurora Gower, wilt thou have Nicholan Wiseman MAy AND DECEMBSR, MS here present, to be thy lawful husband, to have, and to hold ?" etc. A loud, fierce, passionate " No /" b irst from the lips of the hi Me. Dr. Wiseman saw her intention, and was immediately seized with a violent fit of coughing, in which her reply was drowned. Tlie mockery ol a marriage was over, and Nicholas Wiseman and Aurora Gower were solemnly pro- nounced '• man aiul wife/' A mocking smile curled the lips of the bride at the words, and she turned to receive the congratulations of her many friends, to bear all the hand-shaking, and hear herself addressed as " Mrs. Wiseman." "Now, beautiful fairy, you are my own at last. You see fate had decreed it," said the doctor, with a grim smile. " And bitterly sliall you repent that decree. Do you know what I was doing when I stood up before the clergyman with you ?" " No, sweet wife." " Weil, then, listen. I was vowing and consecrating my whole life to one purpose — one aim ; and that is deadly vengeance against you for what you have done. Night and day, sleeping or waking, it shall always oc- cupy my thoughts, and 1 will live now only for re- venge. Ha I I see I can make your saffron visage blanch already, Dr. Wiseman. Oh i you'll find what a happy thing it is to be married. Since I must go down, I shall drag down with me all who have had part or share in this, my misery. You^ viper, ghoul that you are, have turned my very nature into that of a fiend. Dr. Wiseman, if I thought, by any monstrous possibil- ity, you could ever go to heaven, I would take a dagger and send my o vn soul to perditi'in, sooner than fo thers with you." ■ r i.-*-: ., V <* * I * i f^ r ''I ! h I I Jfl ! 1 : i \ ii hi III. ':i|! Ml J 1 '' I' 1 !.i »■ > A4« ARCHIE'S LOST LOVE. There was something in her words, her tone, her face^ perfectly appalling. Her countenance was deadly white, save where the rouge colored it, and her eyes. Oh! never were such wild, burning, gleaming eyes seen b, any face before. He cowered from her like the soul- struck coward that he was ; and, as with one glance of deadly concentrated hate she glided from his side and mingled with the crowd, he wiped the cold perspiratioo off his brow, and realized how true were the words oft quoted : " Hell has no fuiy like at woman ■corned.'* and began to fear that, after all, Mount Sunset mct purchased at a dear price. CHAPTER XXV. Archie's lost lots. •* Be it so ! we part forever — Let the past as nothing be ; Had I only loved thee, never Hadst thou been thus dear to " More than woman thou wast to 1B»— Not as man I looked on thee ; Why, like woman, then, u^do me? VVhy heap man's worst curse on me ?"— BiaflH. I I I |T was the evening of Gipsy's wedding-day— a wet, chilly, disagreeable evening, giving liroaiisc ol a stormy, tempestuous night — fit u'caJicr K.f sucli a bridal ! Lightb wore already gleaming in the cot- U£e& of the villageiv and tiie large parlor of the **Iai ■ ■ -v I ARCHIE'S LOST LOVE, >47 of St. Mark's" was crowded— every one discusiicg the surprising wedding up at the Hall, and wondering what Miss Gipsy would do next — when, as James says, " a solitary horseman might have been seen," riding at a break-neck pace toward Deep Dale. The house looked dreary, dark, and dismal — unlig..ted save by the glare iVom one window. Unheeding this, the " solitary horse- man " alighted, and giving his horse to the care of the servant, ran up the stairs and unceremoniously burst into the parlor, where Minnette Wiseman sat reading alone. All her father's entreaties and commands to be present at his wedding were unheeded. She had heard the news of his approaching marriage with the utmost coolness — a stare of surprise from her bright black eyes being the only outward emotion it caused. " Why should I go to see you married ?" was her im- patient reply to his stern commands. *' I care nothing for Gipsy Gower, nor she for me. You can be married just as well without me. I won't go ! " Therefore she sat quietly reading at home while the nuptial revelry was at its height in Sunset Hall, and looked up, with an exclamation of surprise, to see our traveler standing before her. " Archie ! what in the world brought you here V^ ohc exclaimed, rising, and placing a chair for him before the Ire. ' Rail -cars part of the way, steamer next, and, finally, aiy horse." " Don't be absurd. Why have you come to Saint Mark's? No one expected you here these three months." '* Know it, coz. Bu: I've found out I am the luckiesi dog in creation, and ran dowr here to tell you and an- other particular friend I have. I suppose you have heard of Uncle John Rivers, my father's brother. Yes ! Well » !•' % «4« ARCHIE'S LOST LOVE, ^"^ 'A ^\ I i1 ^' 1 I- li : i ! about four monilis ago he returned from Europe, wiU one hundred and fifty thousand dollars and the con- sumption. Though he never had the honor of my ac quaintancc, he knew there existed so distinguished an individual, and accordingly left the whole of his prop- erty to me ; and a lew weeks after, gave up the gho^t You see, therefore, Minnette, I'm a rich man. .'v€ pitched law to its patron saint, the — hem ! — and started off down liere post-haste to marry a certain little girl in these dipfgin's, and take her with me to see the sights in tCurope." '• My dear cousin, I congratulate you. I presume Miss Peari is to be the young lady of your choice." '* No ; Celeste is too much of an angel for such a hot- headed scamp as I am. I mean another little girl, whom I've long had a penchant for. But where's your father ?" Minnette laughed sarcastically. " Getting married, I presume. This night my worthy parent follows tlie Scriptural injunction, and takes unto himself a wife." "Nonsense, Minnette ! — you jest." "Do I?" said Minnette, quietly. "I thought yoa knew me well enough now, Archie, to know I never jest." "But, Minnette, it is absurd. Dr. Wiseman married in his old age. Why, it's a capital joke." And Archie laughed uproariously. "Who is the fortunate lady that s to be 3our mamma and my respected aunt?" " Wliy, no other than that little savage, Gipij Gower." Had a spasm been s iddenly thrust into Archie's heart, he could not have leaped mc-e convulsively from his scat. Even the undaunted Minnette drew back in alarm. *^ What did you say '" he ezclaiii»«d, f^mipinc hef ARCHIE'S LOST LOVE. •4f irm, unconsciously, with a grip of Iron. "To whom it he to be married ?" " To Aurora Gower. What do you mean, tir ? Let go my arm." He dropped it, staggered to a cair, dropped his head in his hands, and sat like one suddenly struck by death. "Archie, what is the matter ?" said Minnette, looking at him in wonder. " Was Gipsy the one you came here to marry ?" "Minnette! Minnette! it cannot be true!" he ex- claimed, springing to his feet, without heeding her ques- tion. *' It is absurd — monstrous — impossible J My wild, free, daring Gipsy would never consent to marry a man she abhorred. For Heaven's sake, Minnette, only say you have been jesting !" "I have spoken the truth," she answered, coldly. "My father this morning married Aurora Gower !" •* Great heavens ! I shall go mad I What in the name of all the saints tempted her to commit such an act ?" " I know noc. Most probabky it is one of her strange freaks — or, perhaps, she thinks papa rich, and married him for his money. At all events, married him she tias ; hei reasons for doing so I neither know nor care for." " Heaven of heavens ! Could Gipsy — she whom I al- ways thought the pure, warm-hearted child of nature — commit so base an act ? It cannot be ! I will never be- lieve it ! By some infernal plot she has been entrapped into this unnatural marriage, and dearly shall those who have forced her rue it !" exclaimed Archie, treading up and down the room like one distracted, " You always thought her simple and gutlelesi ; I al- ways kmw her to be artful and ambitious. She hu not II* ♦ •so ARCHIE'S LOST LOVE, ■iW I f.. ' 1 !' !' Id *i !i ^it:. . 1 1 1 n J ■ 1 ! ill been entrapped. 1 have heard that she laughs as mer.ily as ever, and talks more n jnsense than she ever did befo'! ill her life — i.i bhort, appears perfectly happv. She is too bold and dariui; n) b.- entry ,>pcd. Besides, what means could ihey use to compel her? If she found their, wiying to tyrannize «» . cr he: . >.he would run oflE as she did be- fore. Nume-.v.e, Arc/lie! Vour own sense must tel! you she has married him willingly." Every wt>»rd was like a dagger to his heart. He dropped into a ciiair, bu;ied his face m his hands, aud groaned. " Oh, Gipsy I Gipsy ! — lost to me forever. What are we.'.Ith and honor to ine now ! For you I toiled to win a hoi:.e and name, believing \ou true. And thus I am repaid for all. Oh, is there nothing but treachery and deceit in this; world? Would to hcii;en," he added, springing fiercely up, and shaking back his fair, brown hair, " that the man she has wedded were not an old do- tard like that. I would blow his brains out ere another hour." " My father will, no doubt, rejoice to find his years have saved his life," said Minnette, in her customary cold tone. ** Pray, Mr. Rivers, be more calm ; there is nc necessity for ail this excitement. If Aurora Gower has deserted you for one whom she supposed wealthier, it \t only the old story over again/* ' "The old stoiy !" exclaimed Archie, bitterly. " Yer il;e old story of woman's heartlessness aad treachery .iud man's blind self-deception. Be calm ! Yes ; if you had toid me she whom I love above ail on earth was dead, and in her grave, I might be calm ; but the Kxit of another, and that other" — he paused, lad ground his teetb >vith impotent rage. " Well, since it 's so, and cannot be helped, what's tha ARCHIE'S LOST LOVE. •J» use of making such a time about it?" said Minnctte, im* patiently, taking up her book and beginning to read. Archie glanced at the cold, stone-like girl before him whose very calmness seemed to madden him ; then, seiz- ing his hat, he rushed from the room, exclaiming : "Yes, I will see hei -! will confront her once mcBC tccuse her of her deceit and selfishness, and then leave \vt country forever." He was out of the house in an instant ; and in five minutes was galloping madly through the driving wind and rain, unheeded and unfelt, now toward Mount Sun- set Hall. The numberless blazing lights from the many win- dows illumined his path before it ; the sound of revelry was wafted to his ears by the wind, making him gnash his teeth in very rage. He reached the mansion, threw the reins to one of the many servants standing in the court-yard ; and all wet and travei-staiiied, pale, wild, and excited as he was, he madehis way through the wondering crowd, that involun- tarily made way for him to pass ; and ** So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers and all. But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented — the gallant came late." Heeding not the many curious eyes bent upon him, still he strode on, until he stood within the crowded drawing- room. Amid ail that throng his eye saw but one face, beheld but one form. Standing near the upper tnA of the room was Gipsy — his Gipsy once — looking far more beautiful than he had ever seen her before, and flirting with all hei ciight with a dashing lieutenant. Having gained her point, to be married in black, she ^■^ . m ■s* ARCHIE'S 1.0 ST IaIVE »' i !■ ., had exchanged her distnal robes for the gornfeoui wedding-dress that fell around her in foMs of light Pearls flashed amid her raven curls, gleamed in her ears, shone on her white arms, and rose and fell on her rest- less bosom. She needed no rouge, for her cheeks were vivid crimson, her lips red and glowing, her cyc» out- shining the jewels she wore. Never had Gipsy been so lovely, so bewildering, so intoxicating before. The very siji^lit seemed to madden Archie. To see her there in all her dazzling beauty, the wife of another, laughing and talking as gayly as though he had nevei existed, nearly drove him to desperation. Striding through the crowd of gay revelers, who drew back in alarm from his wild, pale face and fierce eyes, he ad vanced throuj^h the room, and stood before the bride. There was an instantaneous hush through the room. Dr. Wiseman, already sullen and jealous, sprang up from the distant corner to which he had retreated, but did not venture to approach. Gipsy's graceful head was bent in well-affected timid- ity as she listened to the gallant words and whispered compliments of the gay young officer, when, suddenly looking up, she beheld a sight that froze the smile on her lip, the light in her eye, the blood in her veins, the very life in her heart. Every trace of color faded from her face, leaving her white as the dead ; her lips p&rted, but no sound came forth. " So, Mrs. Wiseman, I see you recognize me !" he said, with bitter sarcasm. "Allow me to congratulate you upon this joy ful occasion. Do not let the recollection that you have perjured yourself to-day before God's min- ister, mar your festivity to-night. No doubt the wealth for which you have cast a true heart aside, and wedded a man you loathe, will make you completely happy. As I leave America forever to-morr ow, I wished to offer my ARCHIE* S LOST LOVE. m congratulations to the * happy pair ' before I went. I wat fool enough, at one lime, to believe the promises you made me ; but I ditl not then know * how fair an outside falsehood hatli.' Farewell, Mrs. Wiseman ! you and I will never meet again. All your treachery, all your de- ceit, your heartlcbsness, is known to me, and I will never trouble you more !" He turned, left the house, sprang on his horse, and was out of St. Mark's ere any one had recovered from their astonishment and stupefaction sufficiently to speak. He heard not, as he rode along, the wild, piercing cry of anguish tliat broke from the lips of the bride, as she fell senseless to the ground. He knew not, as he stood on the deck of the steamer, next morning, bound for ** merrie England," that the once free, wild, mountain huntress, the once daring, defying Gipsy, lay raving and shrieking in the wild delirijim of brain fever, calling al- ways in vain for him she had lost. They had caught the young eaglet, and caged it at last ; but the free bird of the mountains lay woundsd and dyinj; io their graip. nff «i ' rfr \ . it'. \ ' f- • i I I iS4 lOUIX \ \ s \ o^. « i' CHAPTER XXVI. LOUIS. A look of pride, an ey« of flam* ; A full-drawn lip that upward cuneJ ; An eye that seemed to scorn the world."— Scort. was a merry morn in Juno, many monthi iiftcr the events related in the last chapter. A brici retrospective glance it is necessary to take ere we proceed. For many long weeks after the fatal night of her marriage, Gipsy lay iiovering between life and death; and Celeste came, with her loving heart, and gentle voice, and noiseless footstep, and, unheeding rest or sleep, nursed the po(jr, pale, crazed little bride back to life. No one else would Gipsy have near her — not even Aunty Gowe» : and a physician from the city at- tended her — for the very mention of her detested bride- groom threw her into hysterics. But, notvrithstanding all their care, long mcmtiis passed away ere Gipsy was well again, and Celeste, worn and wearied, but uncom- plaining, permitted to return to the peaceful solitude of Valley Cottage. Dr. Wiseman had not yet breathed a syllable of Gipsy's parentage. He could not do so during her ill- Qess ; and -vlien she recovered, he wished a decent intcr- ral of time to elapse ere he made it known, lest the world should suspect his previous knowledge of it had caused him to marry her. Besides, he found there was no cause to hurry ; for, during Gipsy's illness, the squire had invited him to shut up his house at Deep Dale and tours. \ bring Minnettc with him, to reside at Sunset Hall. To this the doctor eagerly assented ; and havinij, with some trouble, prevailed upon Minnettc to accompany him, Deep Dale was rentec, and the doctor and his daughter became domesticated at Mount Sunset Hall. Nearly nine months had elapsed. Gipsy — now h^ well as ever, and more daring and mischievous eve? than before — had just set herself to work to begin lul filling the vow she had made, and soon succeeded in driving the doctor nearly wild. Though he had merely married her for her money, he had, as time passed on, learned to love her with a strange, selfish, absorbing passion ; and the more she mocked, and scorned, and laughed at him, the more infatuated he grew. The wil- ful elf kept her husband in a constant state of panic and terror, running into the greatest dangers with the ut- most recklessness, and often barely esc?.ping with her life. Out all hours of the day and night, sometimes not coming home until morning, it is not to be wondered at that she kept the whole household in alarm. Often after midnight, going out to search for her, they would find her riding among the rocks, or, having tied up Mig- nonne, she would be discovered asleep in some grotto or cavern. Then her flirting ! The doctor was madly jealous, and not without reason. There was not a man under thirty, if at all presentable, but the reckless girl had flirted unmercifully with, in a way that would havr completely destroyed the reputation of any other woma:-. buL which was men^ly noticed by the remark that it \va: "just like Gipsy ;" and her maddest actions were iiit- cned to with a smile and a stare of astonishment, and a wonder what she'll do next ?" Poor, half-crazed little Gipsy ! The real goodness of her nature was too ap- parent to all through her outward recklessness to make them suspect her of evil. » it*. 1 1! H ' ! 1 ll •s« LOUIS. \ St. Mark's had become a much gayer p.&ce tbti when we first knew it. Many new lamilies had moved hither from the city; and balls, and parties, and sleigh, rides in wirter, and picnics, and excursions, and soircca, \n summer, became all the rage ; and the leader of ail tiicse was the " merry litf le Mrs. Wiseman,' as these new-comers called her. And no one, to see her entering ^eart and gouI into these festivities, would ever dream A the miserable secret weighing on her mind, or the litill untamed, restless heart that struggled to find forget- fu]nes' in constant gayety. They had never heard of Archie since his departure save once thrt)Ugh Louis, who, in one of his letters, spoke of having met him in Paris. No one mentioned his name at Sunset Hall. Gipsy especially, even in the re- motest way, never alluded to him ; and the good, cbcuse family began to hope she had quite forgotten him. And now we have come back to tha', merry morn in June 'vith which this chapter opened. G'psy, arrayed in a tasteful riding-habit, which she held up with o le hand, while in the other she held a silver-mounted riding-wi:ip, stood in xhz breez} park, watching her horse, that was neigh* ng impatiently to be off. Mrs. Gower stood be- hi:id her, looking tioubled and anxious. "My dear Gipsy," she was saying, **I wish you would not go out this moining. What will people say to sec f o J out riding, and your husband having fallen frcra his Lorse, and broken two of his ribs and his leg, last Q ght?" '* 1 wish it had been his neck !" " Oh, child ! don't say such sinful, wicked things. 01 course, I know you don't mean them ; but then it's very wrong." " 1 don't n,re, aunty ; I do wish it — there ! I don't •e«3 what posbesses him to cumber the earth lo long. If Mi LOUIS. •%1 ■ \ tie ioesn*t give up the ghost soon, I'll administer a doM of hemp some night — for I do believe his c'cstiny U har ging. If there ever was a neck mads for a rope, it's his — just the shape for it. Jupe, mind what you're at there. Don't let Mignonne get all over dut.1." " Gipsy, you will stay ?*' " I wont stay, aunty — not if it were Dr. Wiseman's neck, instead of his ribs, that was broken. Oh, yes, I would, too ; I'd stay home then for joy. I'm off now. Good-bye. If his worship becomes extinct during my absence, just send for me, and I'll shed a few tears, and everytliing will go off in fashionable style." And, laughing at Mrs. Gower's scandalised face, Gipsy leaped on her horse and rode off. As she ascended the hills behind Mount Sunset she beheld, opposite to her, a horseman with his back to- ward her, standing silent and motionless, gazing upon Sunsst Hall. " I wonder who he is ?" thought Gipsy. " A hand- Bome fellow, I should say, for his form is superb. Won- der if he knows he's standing on my favorite point of view? Well, as I've no notion of surrendering my rights to him or any one else, I'll just give him a hint ta get out of that." And, suiting the action to the words, Gipsy shouted, as she reined up her Horse : **■ Hallo, sir !" The horseman was still gazing like one entnmced. He evidently did not hear her. " I say, sir !" again called Gipsy. Still no answer. " Well, whoever you are," soliloquized Gipsy, "you're mighty polite to refuse answering a lidy. I'll try again. Look here, sirrah, will you?" He did not move. ** Well, 'pon my hoqor, that's decid;.J';T ooel t" taU I t I. . Ii-idd ' ■ „ .t IV: «s» LODIS. Gipsy. So you won't pretend to notice mc, eh Very well, sir ; -ve'll see whether you'll pay more attention to a lady than this." And Gipsy drew a pistol from her belt took deliber ate aim, and fired. It was well she doubted not her own skill ; it wai well she had a steady hand and eye ; for the bullet passed through the crown of his hat, scarcely two inchei above the temple. With an exclamation of surprise and anger, the stranger turned round, and likewise drew a pistol. His eye wandered over the scene ; but he could see no one but a young girl, who was coolly reloading her pistol, as \i about to send a second ball in the same direction. "Good-morning, madam. Did you see anyone fire just no:./' said the stranger, in a most musical voice, at he rode toward her. "Yes, sir, /fired it," replied Gipsy, impudently. ^^You did !" said the stranger, with a stare of surprise; ** and may I ask, madam, if it was your intention to shoot me ?" " Of course it was ! My aim was unfortunately taken a little too high. If you'll just stand there again, I'll try another shot," replied Gipsy gravely. Again the stranger stared, as though doubting the sanity of his companion. There was no idiocy, however, in the bright, keen eyes, twinkling with suppressed mirth, that were now lifted to his ; and, taking off his hat, the stranger pointed to the hole, saying : " On the whole, I think I ha\e no particular fancy for being made a target of — esj>ecially for so good a shot as you. May I ask the name of the fair amazon I have been fortunate enough to meet ?" '* You muEt be a stranger here not to know it I hmv« I \ ■:;.>: took deliber- LOurs, •5f leveral names ; the last and least of which .8 — M:«. Wise* man. And yours ?" " Louis Oranmore, very much at y . ur service/* he an- swered, with a courtly bow. "Oh !" Such a stare as he got from those bright eyes -such a quick flush of delight as overspread the pretty ice beneath liini — such a keen scrutiny as his face un lerwent at that moment. He noticed it, without pre- lending to do so ; but there was an ill-repressed smile of amusement hovering about his finely-chiseled lip. Yet it was evident he did not recognize her. The handsome, impetuous boy had grown into a tall, elegant, princely-looking man. His complexion, dark< ened by foreign suns to a clear, manly olive, was shaded fc? a profusion of jet-black curling hair. His fine dark eyes were bright, clear, almost piercing ; his upper lip was siiaded by a black mustache, but it did not conceal its scornful upward curve. Pride and passion, genius and unbending wil! v.ere written in every lineament of that irresistibly handsome face ; yet there was at times a winding softness in it, particularly when he smiled. He still bore a strong likeness to his dead father, save that Louis was much handsomer. There was something grand and noble in his tall yet slight figure, mingled with an ease and grace of manner that bespoke his ac- quaintance with polished society. His voice, that could at times ring with the clarion tones of command, never addressed a woman without being modulated to the soft- est and most musical of sounds. Such had our old fa* vorite Louis become — verv little like the Louis we once linew, we must own — very little like the guileless, inno- cent Louis, this gay ycung man of pleasure. Perhaps something of all this was floating^ througfh 'Jie mind of Gipsy : for in spile of the admiration that % ■*■ . 'i 'J 6 "'f." ', ■. « •i^ • ?!: \ \ f ; LOUIS. ehone in her now radiant face, she dnished her scrutiny with a sigh. " Well, fair Judy, do you find me so very hideous that you thus turn away?" he asked, fixing his deep, dark eyes in evident amusement on her face. Gipsy would liave blushed had she known how ; bu! it was sometldng she knew very little about, so sh<< merely answered : *' Well, I think I have seen persons almost as frightful looking as you before. Vou are a stranger here, I pr^ sume ?" " Yes ; though this is my native village, yet I have iieen absent for many years in Europe. May I ask il you are acquainted with the inmates of Sunset Hall yonder ?" " Yes ; I've seen them." " Are they all well .>" " Why, yes, I believe so ; ali buv api — I mean Dr. Wiseman." " Dr. Wiseman ! What has he to do there ? — he doa not belong to the family." " Yes, he does." " Whatr " He married a ward of Squire Erliston'i — Gipsy- something, I think they called her. Gow — Gow— trower, I believe, was the name — and tLcn, with his daughter, came there to live." *' Why, is it possible ? Has little Gipsy Grower mar ried that old man — old enough to be her grandfather?' exclaimed Louis, -n unbounded amazement. " Yes." " Well, after that, nothing will surprise me. And Archie never mentioned a word of it," laid Louit, in i tort of soliloquy ; "and my — and Mrs. Oranmore, how .1 she ?" LOUIS. ■ii I ^^;! src ? — he doa ^ Pretty well. She has not been verj itroBf lateljp " •* Poor mother ! And the squire ?** "Is quite well." " You reside in St. Mark's, I presune ?" " Why, yes. Nonsense, Louis ! Don't you know me?" " Hallo ! No, it's not ; yes, it is, though ; it's Gipsy Gjwer, is it not ?" cried Louis. •*No, sir. Mrs. Niciiolas Wiseman, \i you please," !»aid Gipsy, drawing herself up. •' My dear little Gipsy, I am delighted to meet you again. How handsome you have grown ! Allow me to embrace my little playmate ?" Accepting his salute with saucy cordiality, Gipsy turned her horse's head in the direction of the Hall. " Tell me now Louis, what brings you home so sud- denly ?" asked Gipsy. " Why. to confess the truth, I grew tired of sight- seeing, and began to feel homesick for the old, familiar faces ; so, wishing to surprise you all, I started without sending you word, and liere I am. But, Gipsy, whatever possessed you to marry that old man ?" " Love, of course. People always marry for love, you know." " Pshaw ! Gipsy, I know better than that. Why did you jilt poor Archie? I met him ir. Paris, half crazy, one would imagine. He answered my questions ration- ally enough, until we came to apeak of you, when he burst forth into a torrent of invectives against flirts and deceivers in general, and then seized his hat and fled fr:;m the room, leaving me to conjecture as best I might hij meaning. Come, Gipsy, own up, are you not the cause of all this frenzy ?" Gipsy's face had grown very pale ; her ejet were bent f: » ■ ■ ■ r u , I 1 1 ■41a LOUIS. on the ground, her lips firmly compresMd, M the •&• twereJ, in a low, hurried voice : ''Louis, don't talk to me on this subject. lam wicked and wretch ;d enough the best of times, but I always feel like a perfect fiend when this subject is mentioned. Suf- fice it for you to know that fate had decreed I should wed Dr. Wiseman ; no earthly power could have prevented it, therefore 1 became his wife." *' Did they dare to force you ?" exclaimed Louis, with a kindling eye. " If so " "No, no, Louis; I could have refused if I would Don't mention this subject more. See, there is the old hall ; and there at the gate stands Minnette Wiseman, my daughter now, you know. Is she not a beautiful girl ?" " Beautiful indeed !" exclaimed Louis, enthusiasti- cally, pausing involuntarily to gaze upon her. Splendid indeed looked Minnette. Her dress of black (she always wore black) fluttering in the morniog breeze, and confined at the slender waist by a dark crim- son belt. Her long, shiny blue-black hair was twined in classic braids around her superb head. Her glorious black eyes were fixed on the glancing waters of the bay and no June rose ever bloomed a more brilliant crim- son than the hue of her cheek. She might have been an Eastern queen — for her beauty was truly regal, vith her dark, oriental face, and splendid Syrian eye ; but there was too mucli fire and passion in her nature, and too few womanly traits and feelings. " Oh, Minnette, guess who's come !" cried Gipsy, rid- ing up to where she stood. '* Who ?" said Minnette, breathlessly, at her eye fell on Louis. The next moment she started convulsively ; the blood rushed in torrents to her brow. ^S^ had recognixed him, though Gipsy had not. LOUIS. ^l ** It's I^o lis," said Gipsy — ** Louis Oranmore ! Comtf Louis ! come ! Miss Minnette. I am going up to the house to tell them you have come." She was off like a flash, up the lawn, and in the house, while Louis leaped from his horse, and with courtly grace laised Minnette's hand to his lips; while she, pf'ssing her hand to her heart, that beat and throbbed as though it would force its way to him, strove to return his salutation It was a strange thing to see the cold, marble-like Minnette so moved. "How everything has changed since I left home !" said Louis ; " the place itself seems changed, and you more than all. I left you a little girl, thoughtful beyond your years, and I return to find you " " The most beautiful woman my eyes ever rested on," he would have said, but she raised her head, and some- thing in the expression of her face checked him. No marble ever was v^hiter or more cold, as she said : " Yes, all has changed, and none more so than your lormtr favorite. Celeste." " Ah ! little Celeste — how is she ? I had forgotten to ask for her. I trust she is well ?" " I presume so. I know nothing to the contrary." " I remember her a lovely child ; I suppose she is an equally lovely girl ?" said Louis, carelessly. A scorching, scailu ng glance shot from the lightning eyes of Minnette; biit, without answering him, she turned away, and walked steadily into the house. " Strange, incomprehensible girl !" said Louis, look- ing in surprise after her, " How that flashing glance reminds me of the Minnette of other days ! Have I said anything to offend her, 1 wonder ? Heigho ! what a ra- diant creature she is, to be sure ! What would not some of the gay court beauties I know give for that superb form and glorious face ! Well, I must not fall in love % m s .f. w > '1- ■ :..<•«■ (tf » 1 I 7 I »64 LOUIS, Pi f f V with her, however, if I can help it. Here comes :hat airy little mountain spr.te, Gipsy ! and now for my lady mother !" " Come, f^(. jis, co;;;c ' ibe cried, darting in again. Louis fjllowed \ ^r '■\.x 'ed the way to his mother's .hamber. Then opening the * or, she ushered him in «nd closing it alter her, immediately retreated. Lizzie sat in an easy-chair, a crimson shawl wrapped around her, her eyes bright, her pale cheeks flushed with expectation. Slie arose at his entrance, and the next moment was clasped in his arms, while their mutual ex- clamations were : " My dear Louis !" • " My dearest mother !" There was a moment's silenc* ; then Lizzie raised her head and surveyed him from head to foot, her face sparkling with pride and admiration. " How tall you have grown ! and how handsome you are ! — handsome enough for a. king, I think, Louis !" she said, delightedly. **Are kings handsomer than other people, my dear mother ?" he said, with a smile. " Why, I suppose so ; I never saw one. You are the rery in^uge of your poor dead father, too ! Dear me! i7hat an age it seems since we parted last !" said Lizzie, jiinking back in her seat, with a sigh. "I am sorry to find you so ill, mother," said Louis, gazing sadly into her thin, pale face, from which the bright glow was fast fading. "Oh, I am always worse in the spring than at any other time. In a month or two I will be quite a differ- ent-looking individi'Hl," said Lizzie, hopefully. An hour passed away, ana then there came a tap at the door. Louis arose and opened it, and beheld Gipsy. " Well Louis, if you're done talking to your mother LOUIS. «r, ho unceremoniously entered the presence of the squire, who, after his old habit, lay in a lounging chair, with his feet stretched upon another, smoking his pipe with the be- nign air of a man at peace with himself and the rest of mankind. At the abrupt entrance of Louis he looked up with A start and muttered something suspiciously like ai? oath at seeing a tall, dark foreigner — as he supposed him to be — standing before him. " Eh ? who the deuce — I beg your pardon, sir, sit down," said the squire, staring with all his eyes. " Do you not know me, my dear grandfather ?" said Louis, advancing witli extended hand. *' Why ! Lord bless me, if it is not Louis Oranmore,** said the squire, jumping up, " with as much hair on his face as a chimpanzee monkey has on its body. Bless my heart ! this is a surprise ! When did you get home ? Eh, when did you come ?" "About an hour agu, si^" " And you're Louis ^ Well, well ! Why, you weren't as high as that when you left," holding his hand about three inches from the ground, " and here you come back as tall as a lamp-post, with mustache enough for a shoc- brusli, and dressed like a Spanish grandee. 'All's vanity,' as Solomon says. Well, and how did you get on with those old humbugs you went off to see— ch?" ** What old humbugs, sir ?" " Pooh ! you know very well — the old masters." ^Oh I I flatter myself I have seen them to some pui- pose/' said Louis, laughing ; *' but, to change the subject* 12 m66 LOUIS. ■\Y I t 1 • f !-^. \\i •\^-' I perceive you have made a few changes in tae domettit economy of Sunset Hall during my absence." " Why, yes, my boy ; a few, a few ! Gipsy's married to the old doctor, and didn't want to, either ; but we coaxed her round and took her while she vcas ' in the humor,' as Solomon says." *' I trust, sir, Gipsy was not compelled to marry thij old man ?" said Louis, with a darkening brow. ** Pooh ! pshaw ! of course not ! Married him of her own free will — just like Gipsy, always doing what no- body would expect ; * women are like mules,' as Solomon says — want them to go one way, and they'll be sure to go t'other," said the squire, uneasily, evidently anxious to change the subject. " Have you seen old Wiseman and his daughter since your return ?" *' I have not seen the doctor, but bis daughter I have She is a most beautiful girl," replied Louis. "Bah! 'All that glitters is not gold,' as Solomon says. She's a proud, sullen, conceited minx, thafs what she is — never liked her. And mind, my young jacka- napes, you mustn't go and fall in love with her. You must look out for an heiress ; not a girlliice her, without a cent to bless herself with." *' I thought the doctor was rich," said Louis. " So he is ; but stingy — infernally stingy ! Won't give her a copper till his death !" " Well, sir, I have no present intention of falling in love with her or any one else ; out if I had, Minnette Wi^icman would be just the girl for me. She is hand- some, refii.ed, intellectual, as any one can tell from her conversation What more would a man have ?" " Stulf ! moonsliine ! * Fine words butter 10 oar- snips,' as Solomon says. She wants the gilt — the money, ray boy. Love in a cottage sounds /cry fine, but come 10 real life and see what it is. No, sir * I will atTerheai y s married LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT. •«y to your marrying a poor girl — never! The her of Erliston and Oraninorc must find an heiress for a wife. No matter about love, you know ; money's the tning. 'When poverty comes in at the door love flies out of the window,' as Solomon savs." I > CHAPTER XXVII. LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT. Iter I have. 'Oh, her smile it seemed half hoi/, At if drawn fium thou^rhts more fi»K Than our common jebtings ar« ; And if any paiii'.'jr drew her, He would [taint her, unaware, With a halo round her hair." — E. B. hAsf^^KMU. WEEK had passed avvay at Mount Sunset Hall since the arrival of Louis. It had been a \vcek of unremitting storm. Rain, rain, rain, from morning till night, and from night to morning, without ceasing. No one could go abroad in such weather ; so the ai rival of Louis remained a secret in the neighborhood. It is true, Gipsy, who feared storm no more than sxia shine, would have ridden forth, but preparations wc. c being made for a grand party at the mansion, in honoi of Louis' arrival, and slie v.as forced to stay at home to assist. The whole household, with the exception of Louis and Minnette, were pressed into the business. Even Lizzie sat in the dining-room and stoned raisins, and sorted fruit, and pickles, and pieserves, and looked I j68 lOy£ AT FIRST SlOMT. over dresses, and laces, and muslins, and flowers, witk unabated zeal. Gipsy might have been seen tiyin^ about in calico long-shorts from morning till night, entering heart and soul into the excitement. Jupiter and Mrs. .iovver were sent to the city for " things," and the squire was coniinualiy blowing and blustering about, and over- seeing all in general. Minnette was tooindolent to hare anything to do with it, and so was left to herself — and Louis. That young gentleman, seeing how busy all were, gravely offered his services in tho kitchen, saying, with the assistance of Tociv. he had no doubt but he would learn how to wash dishes and make himself useful in time. His offer, how- ever, like the manuscripts otten sent to publishers, was *' respectfully declined," and he and Minnette being thus thrown together, became, during the week of the storm, the best of friends — perhaps something more. Their mornings were usually spent in the library, she embroidering while he read aloud poetry — dangerous occupation for a young and handsome man. Then he had such long stories and anecdotes to tell her, of his travels, of his '* hair-breadth escapes by flood and field ;" and it did flatter his vanity a little to see the work drop unnt;ticed from her hand, her ciieek flush or pale, her breath come quick and short at his words. Their after- noons were mostly devoted to music; she seated »t the piano playing and singing his favorite songs, chietly old Scotch and German love ditties, which he liked better than Italian songs or opera music, m spite of his usually fashionable taste. Ar"* Minnette — wild, passionate girl that she was — who can tell the tumultuous thoughts that set her heart throbbing so fast, 01 brought so vivid a crimson to her blooming cheek, as he bent over her, entranced — his da-k, glossy locks iBingling with hers ? Perhaps he did not exactly make .1 i . i. ^ .mmf,m*0lt0mm LOVR AT FIRST SIOHT. ^ ove to her, but he was too thoroup;h a man of the worltt not to perceive that she loved him, as only one of her fie. «', passionate nature can love. The proud, haughtj girl, who had all her life been a marble statue to others, was gentle and timid as a child before hirr:. And he — I canrot excuse him — but though he loved her not he like! this devoted homage, this fiery heart he had tamed and v'on ; and by his manner, almost unconsciously, led lier to believe her love was returned. For the first timf in her life, she was supremely happy, yielding her- self, without restraint, to the intoxicating spcli of bis eye and voice. Gipsy's keen eyes saw all this, too — saw it with regret »nd appreliension, and with instinctive dread. ** Minnette's marble heart had been changed to quiver- ing flesh at last," was her soliloquy. *' She Itrnes him, and (it is the old story) he likes her. Heaven forbid ho should tritie with her ! for woe to you, Louis Oranmore; if the unchained force of Minnette's lion-passions is aroused. Better for you you had never been born, than that the mad love of her tiger heart should turn to still madder hate. S.ie can never make him or any one else happy ; she is too fierce, too jealous, too exacting. I wish she had never come ere. I will ride over to-night or to-morrow, and bring Celeste here ; when he sees her^ I know he can never love Minnette. It may not be too late yet to remedy the evil. The love of Celeste would ennoble him — raise him above the earth, that of Minnette will drag him down, down, to darkness and doom. I must prevent it." Too late ! too late ! Gipsy. The evil has been done that can never be remedied. The "marble-heart" it awakened from its long repose at last. The cards of invitation had been sent out for milef around. Early in the evening of the day appointed I ♦ M 1 " ;1 :t ilii ■ ^■ ' is. li; i 1 .} *' 170 ZOFE AT FIRST SIGHT. Gipsy ordered the carriage and drove to Valley Cottago Miss Hagar, gniy, grim, and unchanged, stifi And up- right as ever, sat (as usual) knitting in the chimney-cor- ner. A perfect bower of neatness was that little cottage — outride iilinosi hidden in its wealth of vines and leaves — inside, bright with cleanliness, and odoriferous with the perl u me of Howers that came drifting in through the vvliilo draped windows and open door. And there, sit- ting by the window in her neat-fitting muslin dress, bright, "ainshiny, and smiling, sat sweet Celeste, the ** Star of the Valley," celebrated for her beauty for miles around. "Ah, Mi s Hagar! how d'ye do? Pleasant day," said Gipsy, flashing in after her old fashion. "Celeste, throw do'.vn i!iat sewing, and come right off to the Hall with me ; I want you." "Oh ! really, my dear Gipsy, you must excuse me,' smiled Celeste ; '* I am making this dress for poor old Widow Mayer, and must finish it to-night. So I cannot possibly Pfo." *' Now, that's just like you. Celeste — always sewing, or sitting up, or writing letters, or reading the Testament to some poor old unfortunate, instead of taking any pleasure for yourself, I declare you ought to be a Sister of Charity, at once ! But you sha'n't work yourself to death for any cne; so come along. I'll send the old lady over, to-morrow, every dress I have, sooner than want you to-night.*' " But Miss ilagar, Gipsy ; it is not right for me to leave her alone. She is so lonesome without me." " No, she's not. You're glad to get *'d of her • ain't fou. Miss Hagar ?" " I should be pleased to have her gro. It is nght sh€ •hould enjoy herself with the reet of the young folks," Mid Miss Hagar. LOVE AT FTRST SIGHT. •V "There ! you hear that ? Now you go and get readj ?" "But really, dear Gipsy " "Now, none of your ' dear Gipsy-ing' me ! I won't j>ten to anotlicr word! Vou musf come; that's the whole of it,' said Gipsy, seizing the work, and throwing it into a corner, and pulling the laughing Celeste by main force from the room. "But, Gipsy, why are you so anxious for me to go with you to-night ?" said Celeste, when they had reached her chamber. " Oh, because I have my raysofts for it," as little Pat Flynn says. " Now I want you to look your very pret- tiest to-night, Celeste. In fact, you must be perfectly irresistible." " I am afraid you arc going to play me some trick, Gipsy !" said Celeste, smiling and hesilating. "Oh! honor bright! Come, hurry up! Put on your white muslin ; you loc k better in it than anything else." " Besides being the best dress I have," said Celeste, as she took it down ; for the cottage maiden always dressed with the utmost plainness and simplicity. "I'll run oui and gather you some rosebuds for your hair," said Gipsy, as Celeste began to dress. "But, Indeed, Gipsy, I am not accustomed to be so gayly attired," said Celeste, anxiously. " Nonsense ! what is there gay in a fe'r white rose- buds, I'd like to know ? Vou shall wear them," said Gipsv, hurrying from the room. Half an hour later and Celeste's toilet was complete Very lovely she looked in her simple white robe, fast- ened at ler slender waist by a blue ribbon, aer shining hair of pale gold falling like a shower of sunlight over her beautifully white and reunded neck, and wreathed with moss roses. Her fair, rose-tinted face, with its deep % ^^P'. ''i , ;,;i '; ■".■■'>* I 'i^H 1 -,. :' ■■ ; ' ■■ " i ' t 1 1 1 1 1 > ■■' ( 1 ; t H . : , jya ZOr^ AT FIRST blue eyes, shaded by long, sunoy lashes ; her red, imil ing lips ; her softly thished cheeks, and broad, tran»> parent foi eliead, bright with youth, and goodness, and loveliness ! " Why, Celeste, you arc radiant to-night — lovely, be- witching, angelic I" exclaimed Gipsy, gazing upon hci in sort of rapture. " Nonsense, dear Gipsy I" said Celeste, smiling, and blushing even at the words of the little hoyden. "Art you, too, becoming a flatterer?" "Not I; I would scorn to be! You know I never flatter. Celeste ; but you seem to have received a baptism of living beauty to-night." Celeste very well knew Gipsy never flattered. Can- dor was a part of the elf's nature ; so, blushing still more, she threw a light shawl over her shoulders, and entered the sitting-room. Both girls took leave of Miss Hagar, and entered the carriage, that whirled them rap- idly in the direction of Mount Sunset. "Gipsy, I know you have some design inalltLiir laid Celeste, as they drove along. " Well ; suppose I have ?" " Why, I shall be tempted to take it very hard i/ideed. Why have you brought me here, Gipsy Y* " Well, to meet a friend. There now !" "Who is it?" " Sha'n't tell you yet. Here we are at home.** Celeste glanced from the window, and saw the court- yard full of carriages, the h?ll illuminated, an;! thronfi of people pouring in. " Is it possible, Gipsy, this is a large party Y* " Yes ; just so, my dear.' ** Oh, Gipsy ! it was too bad of you to entrap me i» this way !" said Celeste, reproachfully. ' Fiddle ! it's a great thing to go to a party, ain't W vi LOVR AT FIRST SIGHT, ■Tl iualltLiir lard indeed Come, jump out, and conic up to my dressing room ; I have a still greater surprise in store for you." Celeste pafscd, with Gipsy, through a side door, and both ran, unobserved, up to her room. Then — after an hour or so, which it took Gipsy to dress, both descended to the saloon, v/here the dancing was already at its height. Their entrance into the crowded rooms produced a decided sensation, Gipsy, blazing with jewels, moved ilong like a spirit of light, and Celeste, in her fair^ moonlight beanty, looking like some stray a'igel newly dropped in their midst. Gipsy led her guest to the upper tnd of the room, under a raised arch of flowers that filled the air with fragrance. "Stay here until I come back for you," she whis- pered, as she turnetl, and disappeared among the throng. Flitting hither and thither like a sunbeam, she paused until she discovered Louis, with Minnette leaning on his arm, calling up the smiles and blushes to her face at his all-powerful will. " Louis I Louis ! come with me ! I want you a mo- ment. You'll excuse him, Minnette, will you not ?" said Gipsy. "Oh, certainly !" said Minnette, with a radiant look, little dreaming for what purpose he was taken from her. Passing her arm through his, Gipsy led him to where he could obtain a full view of Celeste, without being •ccn by her. *' Look !" she said, pointing. He looked, started suddenly, and then stood like one transfixed, with his eyes riveted to the glorious vision before him. She stood under the flowery canopy, robed in white, crowned with roses, leaning against a marble statue oi I: t II If, •74 LOVE AT FIRST SIGBF, Hebe, herself a thousand times lovelier than that ex- quisitely sculptured form and face. This was his ideal, found at last — this tlic face and figure that had haunted his dreams all his life, but had never been found before ; just such an angelic creature he had striven all his life to produce on canvas, and always failed. He stood mo- tionless, enchanted, drinkinjT in to intoxication the be* wildering draught of her beauty. " Louis," said Gipsy, laying her hand on his arm. He heard not, answered not; he stood gazing; like one chained to the spot. " Louis," she said in a louder tone. Still she was unheeded, " Louis, you provoking wretch I" she said, giving ^im a shake. *' Well ?" he said, without removing his dazzled cyci from the vision before him. " What do you think of her ? Is she not lovely ?" " Lovely I" he repeated, rousing himself from the trance into which he had fallen. '' Gipsy, she is divine. Do not praise her beauty ; no words can do it justice." " Whew ! — caught already ! There's love at first sight foi you." "Gipsy, who is she — that vision of light — my life dream — that I have found at last ?" "Then you don't know her ? Bless your dear, inno cent heart ! that's Celeste — your * Star of the Valley.' JCM know !" ' '• '* Yiff}, ves ' I recognize her now — my Star of the Valley, rightly named. Would she were mine I" hs wt\ » .'-'("-.« 5 k\ N'wrt lone. * SImII 1 pr<:'5eni. you?" *' Dc; ,i jIac know I am here ?" " Nc t i oi«iiVt ,^11 her a word about it" **T/?»?s Ita ^e mt I will present myself.' LOVE .'IT FTRST SIGffl. «75 "All right ; that'll save nic some trouble ; and I hear lomebody over there iiiiiging out for Mrs. Wiseman. So au revoir, and Cupid be with you !" Ana, laugiiinr^ /fr FIRST SIGBT, but the weather was so disagreeable," he replied, with 1 pang of regrer and remorse for his neglect. " Yes, so it was," said Celeste, sincerely ; for, having no morbid sell love to be wounded, his excuse seemed the most natur;^! thing in the world. "And how is my old friend, Miss Hagar?" he asked, drawing her arm within his, and leading her toward the ronservatory. xu^w almost deserted. *' Oh, quite well She will be delighted to sec you." " May t go an^i see her lo-morrow, sweet Celeste ?" "Certainly you may. We will both be very glad to •«e you," aiiswe'*;.d Celeste, delightedly. "She isccr-j:iinly a paragon of simplicity. No woman of the world would say that," thought Louis, as he glanced at ht^r eagei, happy face. An CAclaniation from Ceieste attracted his attention, He looked »*p. Right before him stood Minnette, with herglitterifXi^ black eyes fixed upon them with a look ao fierce, so tliimingiy jealcus, that he started back. " Why Minnette, what is the matter ? Arc you ill ?* lisked Celeste, in alarm. She would have turned away without answering ; but the dark eye of Louis was upon her, and she replied, coldly : " I am perfectly well. Excuse me ; I fear I have in- terrupted a pleasant tete-a-tete." And, with one fierce, scorching glance at Celeste, she turned, and hurried away. Celeste shuddered ; something in the dark, passionate face of Minnette frightened her. Her companion per- ceived it — well he understood the cause ; and with matchless tact he drew her mind from the subject to fix it on himself. During the evening he devoted himself assiduously u> Celeste. With her he danced ; on his arm ihe l^tned «« ^ ,1 i' M . THE OLD, OLD STORY: ■n in the promenade ; by his side she sat at table. Stand- ing alone and nejrlected by herself, Minnette saw it all •, and, had 1 loks power to kill, those flaming glances of fire would have stricken her rival dead. It was near morniii!^ when the party broke up. Celeste — who always shared Gipsy '« room when at the Hall — sought her couch, and soon closed her weary blue eyes in blissful slumbers. That night, in tiie dreams of Louis, the dark, resplen- dent face of Minn 'te was forgotten for a white-robed vision with a haunting pair of blue eyes. And Min- nette — in the calm liglit of the stars, she trod up srnd down her apartment until morning broke over the h'JJ* tops, with a wild anguish at her heart she had never ^>>< fore known. CHAPTER XXVIIL " THE OLD, OLD STORY.' I have loved thee, thou gentlest, from a child. And borne thine image with me o'er the tea — Thy soft voice in my soul ! Speak I oh, jet liv* f«r mm T — HncAm. GAY party gathered around the breakfast table at Sunset Hall the next aiorning. There was Mrs. Oranmore — fair, fragile, but still pretty ; then Mrs. Gower, over- shadowing the rest with her large propor- tions until they all shrank into skeletons beside her, with the exception of tiie squire, who was in a state of roaring good humor. There was Mrs. Doctor Nicholas Wiseman — our own little Gipsy — as usual, «U life, kru* ^ ";i ,*■ t,i a7S ** TffE OLD, OLD STORY.' ! ■> li| r n i Mh !M,i ii r tie and gaycty, keeping up a constant fire of repartee- laughing and chatting unceasingly, poor little elf ' ^t drown thought. Tb-n there was Louis — gay, gallant and handsome-^ setting iiimseif and everybody else at case by his stately courtesy and polished manners. By his side sat our favorite Celeste, fair and fresh, and bright as a rosebud. smiling and blushing at the compliments showered upon her. And last, there sat Minnette, pale, and cold, and silent, with the long, black lashes falling over her eyes to hide the dusky tire that filled them. " I wish you would stay all day with us, Celeste," said Mrs. Oranmore. *' I always feel twice as well when I can look upon your bright face. It seems to me you must have drank at the fountain of beauty and youth." " In that I agree with you, madam," said Louii. Minnette th her lip till the blood started. *' Oh ! I really cannot stay, Mrs. Oranmore," said Celeste, blushing vividly. " Miss Ilagar is always very lonely during my absence ; and besides " '' You are engaged to make gowns and nightcaps for all the old women of the parish ! I know all about it," broke in Gipsy. " Formerly / used to be prime favorite in St. Mark's ; but since our return from school I am thrown aside like an old shoe, to make room for your ladyship I'll leave it to the world in genfai if I wasn't quoted as an oracle on every occasion. There wasn't a baby spanked, nor an old dress turned upside dow^n, but I was consulted about it. Now, just look at the difference : it's Miss Celeste here, and Miss Celeste there, and Miss Celeste everywhere ; while I'm nothing but a poor, dethroned, misfortunate little wretch ! 1 won't put up with it — I jist won't. I'll leave it to my daughter-in-law over there, i^ isn't unbearable." * r*. f ; 1' u THE OLD, OLD STORY: »7f " Ha, ha, ha ! Wliat do you say, Mist Wi8em«n f iftid the squire, laugliin^. *' I know nothing about it," coldly replied Minnette. ** And care less, I suppose," said Gipsy. "Thnt's jui4 'Jic way ! Even my own children treat me with disrc- ipect. Well, never mind ; perhaps the tables will turn vet " I am to attend you home, am I not, Celeste ?" said Louis, in a low voice, as they arose from the table. "lam sure I do not know. I suppose you may, i< you wish," she replied, ingenuously. "Oh, go, by all means," said Gipsy, who overheard them. " Anything to keep them away from Minnette,' she muttered inwardly. Accordingly, shortly after the carriage was brought round. Louis handed Celeste in, took the reins, and drove off, unconscious that Minnette, from her chambe/ window, was watching them, with a look that would have appalled him had he seen it. That drive home — to what an unheard-of length was It prolonged ! Had he been training his horses for a funeral, Louis could not have driven them slower. He had so many things to tell her ; wild yet beautiful Ger- man legends — of the glorious skies of glorious Italy — oi the vine-clad hills of sunny Spain — of gay, gorgeous Paris — and of the happy homes of " merrie England." And Celeste, lying back among the cushions, with half- closed 'n'-ss, drank in his low-toned, eloquent words- listened to the dangerous music of his voice — with i* feeling unspeakably delicious, but hitherto unknown She saw not the burning glances of his dark eyes, at they rested on her fair face, but yielded herself up to hi» magnetic influence without attemptinf^ to analyse her feelings. k '! r * •( ■,1- ! '» • IK 1 ' f] -> •3 • » ■■■■ -I 11 I 1^1 4 \< ■ i ''t r rv, :. •' 'I- fSo tjijR old, old story: They reached Valley Cottage all too soon. Looii handed her out, and entered the cottage after her. Miss Ilairar sat in her old seat, as though she had never moved from il. " Good-morninn:, dear Miss Hagar," said Celeste, kissinp( Ivjr so alTeciioniitely that Louis inwardly wished he couhl becoinean old woman forthwith. "Sec — I hari brought a stranger liome with me." Louis stood smiling before her. She raised her sol* emn, prophetic gray eyes to his face, with along, earnest gaze. "Louis Oranmore !" she exclaimed — "welcome home !'» He raised the withered hand she extended so respect- fully to his lips that a radiant glance of gratitude from the blue eyes of Celeste rewarded him. How that mornini^ slipped away, Louis could never tell; but seated, talking to Miss Hagar, with his eyei fixed on the rosy fingers of Celeste flying with redoubled velocity to make up for what was lost, he " took no note of time," until the little clock on the mantel struck two, *' By Jove ! so it is !" exclaimed Louis, horrified at his prolonged visit. " What will they think of me at home ?" '' Stay and take dinner with us," said Miss Hagar hospitably. He hesitated, and glanced at Celeste. '* Pray do," she said, lifting her sunshiny face witll an enchanting smile. Inwardly rejoicing, he consented ; and the long sum- mer afternoon vanished as the morning had done^^un- noticed. " I fear your cottage is enchanted. Miss Hagar," hs said, laughingly, as he at last arose to go ; "I find it ■ext to impossible to tear myself awaj from U. Or " THE OLD, OLD STORY: •ll perhaps there is f ome maufnet concealed that keept peo- ple here against their will." Miss Hagar suiiled good-humoredlj^ and invited him to repeat his vi.dt--an invitation, it i*" unnecessary to say, the youmif gcniieinan condescended to accept. Celeste accain|)anied hini to the door. As they passed out, he said : " On this very spot we parted years ago. Do you re* member that jKirting, Celeste ?" " Yes," slie said, softly, while her fair face grew crim- son as she reincnibercd how wildly she had wept and clung to his neck tlien. He read what was passing in her mind, and smiled slightly. ** Your farewell p;ift, that shining ring of gold, I have kept ever since, as a talisman against all evil," he said, with a slight twinge of conscience as he remembered where it was — at the bottom of one of his trunks, with some scores of other tresses, severed from other fair heads, their owners long since forgotten. "I am glad you did not forget me during your ab- sen':,e," said Celeste, feeling very much confused, and nrt knowing very well what she was expected to reply. " Forget ycju, Celeste ! Who could ever do so after beholding you once ?" Then, seeing how painfully sbe was embarrassed, he turned gayly away, saying : " Good-bye. fairest Celeste ! When shall we m«et agaiu ?" " I know not. Next Sunday, at church, perhaps." " As if 1 could exist so long without seeing my fair Stir of the Valley ! May I not come to-morrow, C-leste ?" " Yes, if you will bring Gipsy." " Oh, never mind Gipsy I She will most probably be * over the hills and far away' long before I open my eyes on this mortal life in the morning. Therefore, t(^ I ■ ' v' fi ' ■ 't X4 IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) // A^ y. a 1.0 I.I 1^ US 20 I.S m L25 llliu IIIIII.6 V <^ /a o^. Hiotographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716)872-4503 \ A^ <^ rv > 6^ '^^ *' -^ 4^ ttfl "T^Ii CLD, OLD story: morrow v/ill behold me cnce more by the side of my liege lady." And bowing lis^htly, he sprang into the saddle and galloped off, followed by Celeste's eyes until he was out cf sight. The gloaming was falling when he reached Sunsei Hall. He entered the parlor. It was dark and un. tenanted, save by a slender, black-robed figure, seated by the window, as motionless as a statue. It was Minnette — her white hands clasped tightly together, and resting on the window-sill, her forehead leaned upon them, her long black hair falling in disorder over her shoulders. A pang of remorse shot through his heart at the sight of that despairing figure. He went over and laid his hand gently on her arm. ** Minnette !" he said, softly. At the sound of that loved voice, at the touch of that dear hand, she started up, and, flinging back her long hair, confronted him, with such a white, haggard face, such wild, despairing eyes, that involuntarily he st£^rted back. "Dear Minnette, what is the matter ?" he said, gently taking her hind. She wrenched it from his grasp, with a bitter cry. and sinking back into a seat, covered her face with her hands. " Minnette, are you ill ? What is the matter ?" he asked, afraid to accept the answer that his owu heart gave. " The matter !" she cried, bitterly. " Oh, you may ask ! You do not know. You were not by my side from morning till night, whispering your wily words into my ear, until this fair, this angelic, Celeste came ! Y0U do not know what it is to have led a cold, loveless life, until some one came and won all the wealth of loTethat !" ihe iled be* kmpiag 5» with ag«ny nents 3 ••S every fiber of her heart seemed tearing from its place, and lay quivering and bleeding in her bosom. Weeks passed. Day after day found Louis at Val- ley Cottage, reading and talking, or walking with Ce- leste. A.nd she — there was no mistaking that quick flushing, that involuntary smile, that sudden brightening of the eye, at the sound of his footstep or the tones of his voice. Yes, the Star of the Valley was wooed and won. And all this time Minnette sat in her own room, alone, wrapped in lier own gloomy thoughts as in a man- tle — the same cold, impassible Minnette as ever. Yet there was a lurid lightning, a blazing fire, at times, in her eye, that might have startled any one had it been seen. One bright nioonlight night in July Louis and Ce- leste were wandering slowly along the rocky path lead- ing to the cottage. Even in the moonlight could be seen the bright flush that overspread her fair face, as she lis- tened, with drooping head and downcast eyes, to his low,, love-toned words. " And so you love me, my sweet Celeste, better than all the world ?" he askea softly. '' Oh, yes !" was the answer, almost ioToluntarily breathed. *• And you will be my wife, Celeste ?'* " Oh, Louis ! Your grandfather will never consent/' "And if he does not, what matter?" cried Louis, im- petuously. '* I am my own master, and can marry whom I please." " Louis — Louis ! do not talk so. I w»ald nerei marry you against nis will.' * You wAuld not?" •» ♦ ■) «■;';■ "I (l . T 1 't , t *'{ . f ; /t . ''.f . "rH .'' '" '/ r ' 1> ' 1 -.* }^ • i ,1 1 " tf6 *'THE OLD, OLD ^TORYr 'mk mim **No, certainly not. It would )e wrong, you know." " Wrong ! How would it be wrong, Celeste ? I am sure my mother would not object ; and as for him, what right has he to interfere with my marriage ?" " Oh, Louis ! you know he has a guardian's right — a parent's right — to interfere. Besides," she added, blush- ing, "we are both too young to be married. Time rnougli these seven years." " Seven years !" echoed Louis, laughing ; " why, that vould be as bad as Jacob and — Rachel. Wasn't that /he name ? Come, my dear Celeste, be reasonable. I j.annot wait seven years, thougl. very likely you could. During all those long years of absence the remembrance of you has cheered my loneliest hours. I looked for- ward impatiently to the time when I might return and see my Star of the Valley again. And now that I have come, you tell me to wait seven years ! Say, Ce- leste, may I not ask my grandfather — and if he con- sents, will you not be mine ?" " I don't know — I'll think about it," said Celeste, tim- idly. " And I know how that thinking will end. Here we are at the cottage. Good-night, my little white aove ! To-morrow I will see 5'ou, and tell you his decision." One parting embrace, and he turned away. Celeste stood watching -lim until he was out of sight, then turned to enter the cottage. As she did so, an iron grasp ?/as laid on her shoulder, and a hoarse, fierce voice :ried : " Stop !" Celeste turned, and almost shrieked aloud, as she beheld Minnette standing like a galyanixed corpse be* fore her. THE RIVALS, ••f )u know.** |e ? I am him, what Is right— a fed, blush- ed. Time why, that asn't that nable. I ^ou could, embrancc oked for. eturn and ow that I Say, Ce- i he coD- :leste, tim- Here we ite aove ! ision." Celeste ght, then ron grasp rce voice i. as she trpse be- CHAPTER XXIX. THE RIVALS. "All Other passions have their hour of thinkiif, And hear the voice of reason. This alone Breaks at the first suspicion into frenzy, And sweeps the soul in tempests." — ShakespkAUK. OR a moment the rivals stood silently con- fronting each other — Celeste pale and trem- bling before that dark, passionate glance ; Minnette white and rigid, but with scorching, burning eyes. " Minnette, what is the matter ?" said Celeste, at last finding voice. *' Good heavens ! you look as though you were crazed." "Crazed !" hissed Minnette through her teeth. "You consummate little hypocrite ! Your conduct, no doubt, should make me very cool and composed. Girl, I say to you, beware ! Better for you you had aever been born, than live to cross my path !" Her voice was hoarse with concentrated passion — her small hands clenched until the nails sank into the quiv- ering flesh. With a shudder, Celeste covered her face in her hands to shut out the scathing glance of those dark, gleaming eyes. " Oh, Minnette ! — dear Minnette !— do not look at m« so. Your eyes kill me," she said, with a shiver. " Would to Heaven they could !" fiercely exclaimed Minnette. "Oh, Minnette! what have I done? If I have in- jured you, I am very sorry. Indeed, indeed, it was unin- s *'.'■ I, i^ l*t THE RIVALS. ■r i 5'-- tentional. I would sooner die than hare any one hati me !" said Celeste, clasping tier hands imploringly. •* Injured nic !" almost shrieked Miiineltc, clutching \ktr arm so fiercely, that Celeste cried out with pain. ' Injured me, did you say ? Yes — the greatest injury >Jie woman can ever do another you have done me. DVom early childhood yon have crossed my path, and, under your artfully assumed vail of simplicity, won the love of the only beiiiir under heaven I ever cared for — won iiim with your silly smiles, your baby face, and cowardly tears ; you, a poor, nameless beggar — a de* pendent on the bouniy of others, /fa^e yeu I — yes, from the first moment I beheld you, 1 hated you with an in- tensity you can never dream of until you feel the full weight of my vengeance ; for 1 tell you I will be avenged ; yes, I would peril my own soul, if by so do- ing I could wreak still more dire revenge on your head. I tell you, you be!;an a dangerous game when you trifled with me. I am no sickly, sentimental fool, to break ray heart and die — no ; I shall drag down with me all who have stood in my way, and then die, if need be, gloating over the agonies I have made them suffer. Beware, I tell you ; for no tigress, robbed of her young, can be fiercer than this newly awakened heart !" She hurled Celeste from her, as she ceased, with such "jiolence, that she reeled and fell ; and, striking her head igainst a projecting stone, lay for some minutes stunned and motionless. A dark stream of blood flowed slowly from the wound ; and Minnette stood gazing upon it with a fiendish smile on her beautiful face. Slowly, and with difficulty, Celeste arose — pressing her nandkerchief to her face to sianch the flowing blood ; and, lifting her soft, pitying eyes to the wild, vindictive face above her, Bhe said : '' Minnette, I forgive you. You are crazed, and know THE RIVALS. 389 one hati igly. clutching ith pain, t injury done me. |path, and, won the red for— face, and ar — a de- ■yes, from ith an in- j1 the full I will be by so do- our head, rou trifled break ray c all who 7 S^loating Beware, I Zy can be irith such her head s stunned ;d slowly : upon it >wly, and ikerchief ftfng her 'ove her, ad know not what yon do. But, oh ! Minnette, you wrong me. I never intentionally injured you — never, as heaven is my witness ! I have tried to love you as a sister always. Never, never — by word, or thouj^ht, or deed — have I wU- linii^ly given you a moment's pain. I would sooner cut off my right hand than offend you. Oh, Minnette ! can we never be friends ?" "Friends!" repeated Minnette, with a wild laugh ; "yes, when the serpent dwells with the dove ; when the tiger mates with the lamb ; when two jealous woman love each other — then we will be friends. Perjure your- self not before me. Though an angel from heaven were ro d. scend to plead for you, I would neither forgive you nor believe your words." '* What have I done to make you hate me so ?" " You brazen hypocrite ! do you dare to ask me what you have done ? He did, too ! A precious pair of in- nocents, both of you !" said Minnette, with her bitter, jeering laugh. " Little need to tell you what you have done. Did you not win the love of Louis Gran more from me by your skillful maciiinations ? He loved me before he saw you. Vou knew it ; and yet, irom the very first moment vou beheld him, you set to work to make him hate me. Do not deny it, you barefaced, art- ful impostor ! Did I not hear you both to-night ? — and was not the demon within me prompting me to spring .\.rward and ^tab you both to the heart ? But my vengeance, though delayed, shall be none the less sure, and, v^hen the time comes, woe to you and to him ; for if I must perish, I shall not perish alone." During this fierce, excited speech — every word ot wnich had stabbed her to the heart — Celeste had stag- gered against a tree ; and, covering her face with her hands, stood like one suddenly pierced by a sword ; w^Tf word burned into her very brain like fire, as sbt X9 ? ^Il ♦ ;.« i' . 4 1^- i*- ■'!.■ .«■■ ■n^ ; it '' •#• r///? RrvAJ.s. •tood like otic fainting— (lyin«]j. By a (freat effort, she crushed back the Hood of her emotions ; and when MinneUe ceased, she lifted up her face — pale as death; but firm and earnest. " Minnette Wiseman," she said, in a voice of gentle dignirv, so unusual to her that the dark, passionate girl gazed on her in astonishment, "as heaven hears me, 1 am guilty of none of these things of which you accuse me. If Louis O ran more loved you, I knew it not, or I would not have listened to him ; if he won your heart, I dreamed not of it, or he should never have won mine. I thought you loved no one but yourself. I never- never dreamed you cared for him. For all the misery he has caused us both, may heaven forgive him, as I do ! If he loved you first, you have a prior claim to his heart, i will tell him so to-morrow, and never listen to him more." She strove to speak calmly to the end ; but at the last her voice died away in a low tone of utter despair. " Bah ! your acting disgusts me !" exclaimed Min- nette, contemptuously. " Do you not suppose I can see through this vail with which you would blind my eyes ? You will tell him to-morrow, forsooth ! Yes, you will tell him I came here to abuse you, and strike you, and load you with vile epithets, and with what saint-like patience you bore them. You will represent yourself as such an injured innocent, and I as a monster of cruelty ; you will tell him, when I smote you on one cheek, how you turned the other. Faugh ! do not iiake me despise you as well as hate you." •* You cannot despise me, Minnette ; you know you cannot," said Celeste, with something like indignation in her gentle voice, as her truth-beaming eye met un- dauntedly the tiashing orbs before her. " You know 1 have spoken the truth You know in your own heart 1 no hypocrite. Hate me if you will — I cannot pre^ s I THR RTVALS, S91 it (.• eflfort, she nd when i as death; of gentle onate girl ears me, I on accuse t not, or I our heart, won mine. I never — misery he s I do ! If s heart, i im more." but at the despair, med Min- e I can see I my eyes ? , you will ; you, and saint-like ourself as f cruelty ; heek, how le despise :now you dignation e met un- 1 know 1 m heart 1 nnot prcK vent you ; but you shall not despise me. I have never intentionally wronged you, and I never will. If Llted the (U)or, and sank, panting and almost fainting, on the ground. *' Good heavens ! child, what is the matter?" asked Miss Ilagar, rising, in alarm. •• Oh ! save me — save me from her !" was all Celeste could utter. '* Save you from whom ? Who are you speaking of? Who has frightened you so ?" inquired Miss Hagar, still more astonished. Celeste slowly rose from the ground, without speak- ing. Consciousness was beginning to return, but she was still stunned and bewildered. " Merciful Fattier '" cried Miss Hagar, as Celeste turned toward the light, " what has happened ?" And truly she might exclaim, at beholding that deadly pale face — those wild, excited eyes — the disheveled golden hair — the blood-stained, and torn and disordered dress. " Nothing ! oh, nothing, nothing !" said Celeste, pass- ing her hand slowly over her eyes, as if to clear away a mist, and speaking in a slow, bewildered tone. " But, child, there is something the matter!" insisted Miss Hagar. '* Vou look as though you were crazed, and your face is stained with blood." " Is it ? I had forgotten," said Celeste, pushing her hair vacantly off her wounded forehead. **It Is nothing at all, though. I do not feel it." " But how did it happen ?" " Oh ! — why, I was frightened, and ran, and feii," said Celeste, scarcely knowing what she said. " What was it frightened you ?" pursued Miss Hagar, wondering at her strange manner. Celeste, without reply, sank upon a seat and pressed )Mr hands to her throbbing temples to collect her scat- I TliJL J^iVALS, 393 •le pjarden ^he rottage, and almost fer?" askcU all Celeste [caking of? [agar, still out speak- n, but she as Celeste ?•• that deadly eled golden lered dress. Jleste, pass- lear away a !" insisted ere crazed, iishing ber Is nothing and fell," iss Hagar, id pressed her scat- \ tered thoughts. She felt sick and dizzy — anablc to think and speak coliereiiLly. Her head ached with tiifl intensity of her eiuuiitjua ; and her eyes felt dry And burning. Hjr brow wat. hut and feverish wilh such vio; lent and unu:ju:il exciteiuent. Her only idea was to get away — to be alone — that she might collect her wai'der ing senses. "Miss Hagir," she said, rising, "I cannot tell you what has iiappencd. I must be alone to-night. To- morr^AV, perhaps, I will tell you all," Any time you please, child," said Miss Hagar, i< Go to your room by all means. Good- ,■1 kindly, night" " Good-night !" said Celeste, taking her lamp and quitting the room. Slie staggered as she walked. On reaching her room she set the lamp on the table, and entwined her arms above her head, which dropped heavily upon it. Unac- customed to excitement of any kind, she felt more as if heart and brain were on fire. Loving Lmiis with the strong affection or her loving heart, the sudden disclos- ure and jealous fury of Minnetce stunned and stupefied her for a time. So she lay lor nearly an hour, unable to think or realize whai had Jiappened — only conscious of a dull, dreary pain at her heart. Then the mist slowly cleared away from her mental vision — the fierce wordti of Minnette danced in red, lurid letters before her eyes. She started to her feet, and paced her chamber wildly. "Oh ! why am 1 doomed to make others miserable ?" she ciied, wringing her hands. "Oh, Louis, Louis! why have you deceived me thus ? What have I done that I should suffer such misery? But 't is wrong to complain. I must n^t, will not murmur. I will not reproach him for what he has done, but try to forgot him. May he be as happy with Minnette as I vould Iv* I »f4 THE RIFALS, have siri>en to render him ! To -morrow I vii* fccc nini and return all the gifts ckerished for his sake ; to« morrow I will bid liim a last adieu ; to morrow ■-but. oh! 1 cannoi — I cannot!" she exclaimed, pas- sionately. *' I cannot see him and bid him go. Oh, Father of the fatiierless ! aid me in my anguish !" She fell on her knees by the bedside, and a wild, ear- "RCSt prayer broke from her tortured lips. By degrees she grew calm ; her wild excitement died away ; the scorching he;a left her brain, and blessed tears came to her aid. Long and bitterly she wept ; long and earnestly she prayed — no longer as one without hope, but trustful and resigned, bending her meek head to the blow of the chastening rod. She arose from her knees, pale, but calm and re- signed. " I will not see him," she murmured ''Better for us both I should never see him again ! I will write — I will tell him all — and then all that is past must be forgotten. In the creature I was forgetting the Creator ; for the ;vorship of God I was substituting the worship of man ; and my Heavenly Fatlier, tempering justice with mercy, has lifted me from the gulf into which I was falling, and oet me in the narrow way once more. Henceforth, no earthly idol shall fill my heart ; to Him alone shall it be consecrated ; and I will live on in the hope that there is yet * balm in Gilead ' for me." It was very easy to speak thus, in the sudden reaction from despair to joy — very easy to talk in this way in the excitement of the moment, after her heart had been re- lieved by tears. She thought not of the weary days and nights in the future, that would seem to have no end, when her very soul would cry out in wild despair for that " earthly idol " again. And full of her resolution, with cheeks and eyei THE RIVALS, 395 ^li* *ec nias IS sake; to to morrow paimed, pas- 1"! go. Oh lish !" a wild, ear. Jtement died (and blessed ^ept ; long >ne without meek head ilm and re- setter for us mte— I will e forgotten, tor ; for the ^ip of man ; with mercy, falling, and 'ceforth, no 5 shall it be hat there is •n reaction way in the id been re- )' days and ve no end, lespair for and erei glowing with the light of inspiration, she sat down at the table, and, drawing pen and paper before her, began to write. A long, earnest, eloquent letter it was. She re signed him forever, bidding him be happy -with Min nette, and forget and forgive her, and breathing the very soul of sisterly love and forgiveness. Page after page was filled, while her cheek flushed deeper, and her eyes grew brighter, and her pen flew on as if inspired. There, in the holy seclusion of her chamber, in the solemn stillness of night, she made the total renuncia- tion of him she loved best on earth, scarcely feeling now ihe had lost him, in the lofty exaltation oi her feelings. It was finished at last. The pen dropped from her hand, and she arose to seek for the few gifts he had ever given her. A little golden locket, containing his like- ness and a lock of his hair ; her betrothal-ring ; and the oft-mentioned gold cross. That was all. She opened the likeness, and through all her hero- ism a wild, sharp thrill of anguish pierced her heart, as she gazed on tiiose calm, beautiful features. The sable ring of hair twined itself round her fingers as though unwilling to leave her ; but resolutely she replaced it, and drew off the plain gold circlet of their betrothal, and laid them side by side. Then her cross — it had cever left her neck since the night he had placed it there. All the old tide of love swelled back to her heart as she gazed upon it. It seemed like rending her very heart strings to take it oil. " I cannot ' I cannot !" was her anguished cry as her arm dropped powerless on the table. " You must ! you must ! it is your duty !" cried the stern voice of conscience; and, with trembling fingers and blanched lips, the precious token was removed and laid beside the others. r (f^* I ,X- fi ■ U,- ^ : t , i * "' l''' t' j > J \ ;^i• ) '?* y' * ,, r r * ■..'■ '^'' :U-' 'Ml S96 GIPSY HUNTS NEW GAME. Then, sealing theaii up, with one last, agonizing iouc. Buch as we might bestow on the face of a dear friend abjut to be cousigne.i to the grave, she sealed and di- rected the packet, and then tnj .w herself on her bed and pressed her hands over her eyes to hide out the iace of her dead. Biit in spite of sorrow, sleep will visit the afflicted, and a bright morning sunbeam fell like a halo on her pale fare, ca.Im in sleep, and on the golden eyelashes, still wet with undried tear-drops. That same broad July sunbeam fell on Minnette lying prone on her face in the damp pine woods, her long, black hair and dark garments dropping with tiie soaking dew. The dark, lonely woods had been her couch the livelong night. CHAPTER XXX. GIPSY HUNTS NEW OAICK. " And by the watch-fire's gleaming lifkt. Close by his side was seen A huntress maid in beauty bright With airy robes of green." — ScOTT. ^T was early afternoon of that same day on P which the events related in the last chapter occurred. Squire Erliston in after-dinner mood, sat in his arm-chair , Louis lay idly on a lounge at a little distance, and Gipsy sat by the window, vawningly turning over a volume of prints. Mrs. Oranmore swathed in shawls, lounged on her sofa, her prayerbook in her band, taking a successioo •f short naps. GIPSY HUNTS NEW GAME, 29r uzingiooc Idear friend led and di- >n her bed |de out the le afflicted, lalo on hei eyelashes, Minnette woods, her g with the been her e ^zj on St chapter ter-dinner f lay idly Gipsy sat olume of unged on uccessioo 9 It wa3 the squire's custom to goto si sep after dinner ^ bit now, in his evident excitement, he seemed quite to forget it altogether. '* Yes, sir," he was saying to Louis, " the scoundrel actually entered the sheriff's house through the window, and carried off more than a hundred dollars, right under their very noses. It's monstrous ! — it's outrageous ! He deserves to be drawn and quartered for his villainy I And he will be, too, if he's takea. The country '11 soon be overrun with just such rascals, if the scoundrel isn't made an example of." " Of whom are you speaking, papa?" inquired Lizzie, suddenly walking up. " Of one of Drummond's negroes — a perfect ruffian ; Big Tom, they call him. He's fled to the woods, and only makes his appearance at night. He stabbed young Drummond hirnseli ; and since then, he'i committed all sorts of depredations. Simms, the sheriff, came down yesterday with constables to arrest them ; and during the night, the scoundrel actually had the audacity to enter the sheriff's window, and decamped with a hundred dol- lars before they could take him. He met one of the con- stables in the yard as he was going Dut. The constable cried * murder,' and seized him ; but Big Tom — who is a regular giant — just lifted him up and hurled him over the wall, where he fell upon a heap of stones, breakir;(f his collar-bone, two of his legs, 'and the rest of his ribs,' as Solomon says. The constable's not expected to i.ve ; and Big Tom got off to his den in safety with his booty." " Why do they not scour the woods in a body ?" in quired Louis. " So they did ; but — bless your soul \ — it's like look- ing tor a needle in a hay-stack— couldn't find him 'xrxy- where." *' Oh ! it was capital fun !" taid Gipiy, laus^hing, " i^ I if 1 in ^ r--;. f '■i ! • ■ ' '< ') I i' 'Mr. . , Ml'* ' iyS 7/PSy HUNTS NE>V GAME. -• ''S: ■^i % reminded me of ' hide-aiid-go-seek' more than AJ/thing else. Once or twice they caught sight of mc thiougii the bashes, and taking me for poor Tom, came pretty near firing on me. Simms made them stop, and called to me to surrender to the law, or I'd repent it. Accordingly, 1 xurrendered, and rode out, and — my goodness ! — if they didn't look blue when they saw me ! I burst right out laughing in their face, and made Simms so mad that I guess he wished he had let his men shoot me. Oh ! didn't I have a jolly time, though! I took them, by various artifices, miles out of their way — generally leaving then: half-swamped in a bog, or in some pathless part of the woods — until Simms lost all patience, and swore till he was black in the face, and rode home in a towering pas- sion, all covered with mud, and his fine city clothes torn to tatters. Ha, ha, ha ! I guess I enjoyed it, if they didn't." " As mischievous as ever !" exclaimed the squire " Pretty way, that, to treat the officers of the law in the discharge of their duty ! How will you like it, if that black demon comes here some night, and murders us ail in our beds ?" Lizzie uttered a stified shriek at the idea. " I'm sure I'll be glad of it, if he only murders Spider first, and so save me the trouble," said Gipsy. " You're an affectionate wife, *pon my word," mut- tered Louis. "Yes; but it's just like the diabolical young *mp," growled the squire. "Thank you — you're complimentary," muttered Gipsy. " Mind you/' continued the squire, " while Big Tom's at liberty you must leave off your rides through the woods and over the hills — because be might be tha death of you at acv moment." GIPSY HUNTS NE^iV GAME. 399 Jough the retty .lear lied to me |ordingIy,l .'—if tlit7 right out ad that J h ! didn't J various ving their >art of the ore till he ering pus- othes torn it, if they he squire law in the 5 it, if that ders us ail ' murders j^ipsy. rd," mut- ing -mp," muttered hile Big through t be th« " More likely I'd be the death of him. born tc be killed by a ruffian." "No ; for if the gallows iiad its dues — I nere was •* You wouldn't be here to-day," interrupted Gipsy. " Come — don't interrupt me, young woman. 1 pos; tively forbid you or any one in this place ndicg out while Big Tom's roaming about." " That's right, Guardy — show your authority. Noth- ing like keeping it up, you know. And now, as I'm ofl to give Mignonne an airing, I'll think of your com- mands by the way." And the disobedient elf arose to leave the room. "But, my dear, tantalizing little coz, it really is dangerous," interrupted Louis. " If you were to en counter this gigantic negro, alone, it would be rather a serious affair, I'm afraid." "Bother !" exclaimed the polite and courteous Mrs. vViseman. " Do you s'puse I'm afraid — Gipsy Gower afraid ! Whew ! I like that ! Make your mind easy, my dear Louis. I could face a regiment on Mignonne's back without flinching." And Gipsy darted off to don her riding-habit, singing as she went : " Some love to roam O'er the dark sea foam, Where the shrill winds whistle fnw ; But a chosen band In (he mountain land. And a life in the woods tor me.** Ten minutes afterward they saw her ride out ot th« court-yard at her usual furious rate, ana iash away over the hills, where she was speedily out of sight. Gipsy must have had some of the Arab in her na- ture ; for she spent almost her whole life on horse-back. She heeded not the flight ot time, as she ihun acred pi I ■il'. , r ' > !•! f IM % JOC GIPSY J/C/A'TS yiLW GAME, alc.ig, riding in the most hazardous places — tonistiine* narrowly escaping being daslied to pieces over preci- pices — sometimes leaping yawning chasms t'nat would make many a stout hunter's head giddy. The excite- ment was a part — a necessity — of her nature. The almost stagnant lilc in the village would have driven the hot- headed, impetuous girl wild, but for the mad excitement of the chase. Brave as a young lioness — bold and free as the eagle of her native mountains — she scorned fear, and sought danger as others do safety. She knew it was putting lier head into the lion's mouth to venture alone ir.to this wild, unfrequented region, within arm's length of a desperate villain, hunted down like a furious beast ; yet the idea uf not venturing here never once entered her mad little head. It was growing dark before Gipsy began to think of turning her steps homeward. Reluctantly she turned her horse's head, and set out fur Mount Sunset — half re- gretting she had met with no adventure virorth relating on her return. As she rapidly galloped along she discovered she had ridden much farther than she had intended, and that it would be late ere bhe reached the hall. The dim star- light alone guided her path ; for the moon had not yet risen. But Miguonne was so well accustomea to the toixd that he could have found his way in the dark ; and G^ipsy lode on gayly, humming to herself a merry hunt- ing-chorus. Suddenly a gleam of light from between the trees flashed across their path. Mignonne, like his mistress, bcK.g only a half-tamed thing at best, reared suddenly upright, and would have dashed off at headlong speed, bad not Gipty Iield the reins with a grasp of iron Her strength was wonderful for a creature so small snd ■iighi ' but her vigorous exercise had given her thcwi think of le turned :■— half re- relating 2d she had nd that it dim star- d not yet lea to the ark ; and rry hunt- the trees mistress, suddenly ig speed, of iron mall sad er thewi GIPSY HUNTS ITEW GAME, 3»i and n iiscles of steel. Mi^nonne fe't he was in the /iund of a master-spirit, and after a few fierce bounds &nd plunges, stood still and surrendered. Rapidly alighting, Gipsy bound her horse securely, and then stole noiselessly through the trees. The cause of the light was soon discovered ; and Gipsy t>eheui a sight that, daring and fearless as she was, ior a moment froze the very b!oo:! in her veins. A small semicircle was before her, in the center of which the remains of a fire still glowed, casting a hot, reddish glare around. By its lurid light the huge figure of a gigantic negro, whose hideous face was now fright- fully convulsed with rage. On her knees at his feet was a woman, whom he grasped with one hatid by the throat, and with the ether brandished over her head a long, murderous knife. The sight for a moment left Gipsy's eyes, and her very heart ceased beating. Then, with the rapidity of lightning, she drew a pistol, aimed and fired. One second more and she would have been too late. With the shriek of a madman the huge negro leaped into the air, and bounded to where she stood. She turned to fly, but ere she had advanced a yard she was in the furi- ous grasp of the wounded monster. His red eyes were like balls of fire, he foamed, he roared with rage and pain, as with one huge hand he raised the slight form of Gipsy to dash out her brains. In that moment of deadly peril the brave girl was as cool and self-possessed as though she were seated in safety in her guardian's parlor. A gleaming knife was stuck in his belt. Quick as thought she drew it out, and, concentrating all her strength, she plunged it in his breast. The hot blood spurced in a gush \x\ in her face. Without a cry the ruffian reeled, his hand relaxed, and f > >Lii I ■t ^ 1 - ■ \,.. . t joa GTPSY FT U NTS I^RIV GAME. t '■ X t Gipsy spranq: from liis grasp jtist as \« fell heaTily tt the grou id. Gipsy staggered against a tree, with a deadly incliua* tion to swoon coming over her. She covered her face with her hands to hide the ghastly form of the \\\\%t negro, lying wtiltcring in his own blood before her. She had taken a life ; and though it was done in self-de- fense, and to save the life of another, it lay on her heart like lead. The thought of that other at length aroused her to action. Darting through the trees she approached the fire. The woman lay on the ground, senseless, and haH strangled. The firelight, as it fell upon her, showed the face and form of an old woman, upward of fifty, poorly clad, and garments half torn off in the scufHe. The sight restored Gipsy to her wonted composure. Kneeling down, she began chafing the old woman's hands and temples with an energy that soon restored her to consciousness. She opened her eyes and glared for a moment wildly around; then, as consciousness re- turned, she uttered shriek upon shriek, making the fores*, resound. "Stop your screaming," said Gipsy, shaking her in her excitement. " You're safe enough now. Stop, will you. I tell you you're safe." "Safe!" repeated the woman, wildly. "Oh, tha drefful nigger " " He won't hurt you any more Stop your noise and get up, and come with me '" said Gipsy, impa> ftiently. "Oh ! Lor' a masseur ! I can't git up. I'm all out o' I'lDt. I'm dead entirely I" groaned the woman. "Then I shall leave you here," said Gipsy, rising. "Oh, don't leave me !•— don'^ for God'iaake! Vt GIPSY HUNTS N^W GAME. 30J indiua* [her fac€ [he hu;r<. ►re her. self-de- on her her to hed tlie tnd h.'il^ wed the poorly posure. V'oman's restored ' glared 5ness re- e fores! r her in >p, will h, tha noise impa* out o' die o* fear !" screamed the woman, grasping (^rpsy's dress. " Then, you stupid old thing, get up and come along/' cried Gipsy, losing all patience, as she seized her with DC gentle hand, and pulled her vj her feet. " Where '11 1 go ?" said the poor old creature, trem- bling with mortal terror, evidently as much afraid of ♦he fierce little Amazon before her, as of the huge negro " This way," said Gipsy, pulling her along to where stood her horse. "Now, get up there, and put your arms around my waist, and hold on for your life." "Oh ! dear me ! I nevr rid a horseback in my life, and I'll fall off — I know I will !" said the old woman wringing her hands in fresh distress. " Well, I can't help it ; you'll have to make the at- tempt, or stay here till I reach St. Mark's, and rouse up the people. Which will you do ?" " Oh ! I dassent stay. I'll go 'long with you, some- how." " Very well. Up with you then," said Gipsy, almost lifting her into the saddle. " Now, I'l^ get on before you, and mind, if you don't hold on well, you'll never reach the village alive." With the clutch of mortal fear, the old lady grasped Gipsy round the waist, and held on for dear life, until Mount Sunset was gained, when, more dead than alive, ihe was assisted to alight, and consigned to the care of the servants. Louis, who had just returned from his intervie^r with Celeste, was in the parlor with the squire, meditating how he should make his proposal, when Gipsy, pale, wild, and disordered, her hair disheveled, and her gar- ments dyed with blood, burst in upon them, electrifying them with amazement. Great was their consternation as they listened to th* * t ; f II 304 GIPSY HUNTS NEW GAME, rapidly-told tale. There was no timeleft toconL'rrit »ln?* her on her narrow escape, for she impetuously joni- manded Louis to mount immediately and take three or four of the servants to bring away tlie body. WitI) a rapidity almost as great as her own, her coun- sels were obeyed, and Gipsy, with Louis beside lier, started back to the scene of the ratastrophe, followed by four of the servants. They reached the spot at last, and Gipsy drew back in dismay as she discovered the body was gone. ** Who can have carried it off ?" she exclaimed aghast. "I rather think he has carried himself off," said Louis, wl J had been attentively examining the ground, "Oh, impossible! He was dead, I tell you — just as dead as ever he could be," said Gipsy. " Well, dead or not, he has made his escape," said Louis. " See, the grass is dyed with blood all along, showing the way he has gone. Come, the trail io plain enough, let us follow it." All dismounted and followed Louis. Not i^r had they to go, for lying by the fire was the burly form ol the negro. He had evidently, with much difriculty dragged himself thus far, and then sank down exh.\usted. He rolled his glaring eyes fiercely on the faces bend- ing over him, and gnashed his teeth in impotent rage as he saw Gipsy. ^ Thank God I I have not killed him !" was her fiist fervent ejaculation. Then, while Louis and the ser vants began making a sort of litter, she knelt beside him, and strove to stanch the flowing blood, undeterred by the wild, ferociour, glare of his fiery eyes. " Now, Tom, look here," saia Gipsy, as she com- posedly went on with her work, " there's no use in your iookin|2^ daggers at me that way, because it don't alarn i GIPSY HUNTS NEW GAME. 3<^5 three or llier couii pside her llownd b^ Irew back ne. (xclaimed ofif," said ! ground. 11 — just as ipe," said ill along, il io plain >t iar had ' form oi dilricultv xhausted. ces bend- It rage as 5 her fiisi the ser- It beside deterred he com- ' in your I't alarm me a bit. You needn't be rnad at me either, for tiiougli I fired on you first, il was to save the life ot an old woman, who niiglit have been a loss to the world ; and if I made use of your knife afterward, it was to save the life of Mrs. Doctor Nicholas Wiseman, who would have been a greater loss still. So you see I couldn't help myself, and you may as well look at the matter in the same light." By this time the rest came back with a sort of litter : and groaning and writhing with pain, the heavy form oi the wounded giant was lifted on their shoulders, and borne toward the village, where it was consigned to the care of the siierilT, who was thunderstruck when he heard of Gipsy's daring. On their return to Sunset Hall, they learned from the old woman, who seemed threatened with a severe illness, how it had all occurred. She was a '* poor, lone woman," she said — a widow, named Mrs. Donne, livinig by herself for ten odd years, in a little cottage beyond St. Mark's. She was reputed to be rich — a rumor she never con- tradicted, as it made her neighbors treat her with distinc- tion, in the hope that she would remember them in her will. Big Tom, hearing the rumor, and believing it, came to her cottage, and demanded money. She had none to give him, and told him so, which exasperated him be- yond measure. He threatened to kill her if she persisted in refusing, and gagged her to stifle her cries. Then, Snding her still obstinate, he carried her oflf with him to the spot where Gipsy had found them, and again offered her her life if she would deliver up her money. Still she was forced to refuse, and maddened with rage and disappointment, 'le was about to murder her, when Gips| proTidentially appeared, and saved her life. ! • II' Ml ' ' ! i • '' '/ ^^<. t. w H io6 CELESTF/S TRIAL. Nol witlioiit many interruptions was this story told and ere it was conckided, Mrs. Donne was in a high fever. Gipsy iusiallcd herself as nurse, and listened in wonder and surprise to her raving of infants left to per- ish in snow st jrnis, and her wild wordi of sorrow and renaorse for some past crime. CHAPTER XXXI. 1 ' 14: CELESTE S TRIAL. "This morn is merry June, I trow, The rose is budding fain ; But slie shall bloom in winter snow, Ere we two meet again. He turned his charger as he spoke, Upon the river sliore ; He gave the reins a shake, and said Adieu forevermore, My love ! Adieu forevermore." ARRY" Celeste Pearl ! — a girl without t farthing! a beggar! a foundling! I'm astonished, thunderstruck, speechless, sir, at your audacity in proposing such a thing ! 1 have objections, sir — most rf:)g Jip33 ysir time, but it will be long !>efore it happens again.' He turned away with a haughty bow. She saw he was angry, disappointed and deeply mortified, and tears sprang to her gentle eyes. '* Oh, Louis !" was all she could say, «is sobs choked her utterance. He turned round and stood gazing coldly upon her "Well, Miss Pearl," he said, calmly. ** Ch, Louis 1 dear Louis ! forgive me I do nol or !. ^i;:il»' 1 •'•. tj 7^', "i. J" CELESTE'S TRIAL. angry with your Celeste. Oh, Louis ! I am sorry I hav€ offended you." "I am not anqry, Miss Pearl, only a little disap- pointed. You have a perfect right to reject me if you choose. My onl}' regret is that I should have troubled you so long. I have the honor to wish you good-day." And with the last bitter words he sprang on his horso and in a few minutes was out of sight. All Celeste's fortitude gave way then ; and sinking on a seat, she hid her face in her hands and wept the bitterest tears she had ever shed in her life. Louis was gone, and in anger, believing her proud, artful, and fickle — perhaps he would love her no more ; and her bosom heaved with convulsive sobs at the thought. All that day and the next, and the next, Louis came not. How wearily the hours dragged on while slie sat listening in vain for his coming. Taking her work, she would sit by the window commanding a view of the road, and strain her eyes in the fruitless endeavor to catch a glimpse of his tall, elegant figure. At every noise she would start convulsively^ and a wild thrill would dart through her heart, in the hope that it might be his footsteps. Then sinking back disappointed, she would close her eyes to force bark the gathering tears, and strive to keep down the choking sensation that would arise to her throat. And when night fell, and still he came not, unable longer to restrain herself, she would hastily seek her own chamber, and weep and sob until, utterly prostrated in mind and body, the morning would bnd her pale, ill, and languid, with slow step and heavy, dimmed eyes. The morning of the fourth day came, and this sus pense was growing iitolerable. Breakfast had passed untasted, and suffering with a dull, throbbing headache, she was about to quit the room, when ihe sound of • CELESTE'S TRIAL. l^l Irry I have ttle disar>. »e if yo;i troubled )od-iJay." his horso sinkin.o wept the ouis was rtful, and ; and her ight. >uis came ile she sat ivork, she 'W of the deavor to At every nld thrill t it might nted, she ng tears, lat would I still he 'e would ob until, »g would id heavy, his sus I passed eadache, 9d of a hoise's hoofs thundering down the road mads hei ieap to her feet with a wild thrill of joy that sent new light to hcf; eyes and new color to her cheeks. " He is come ! he is come !" she exclaimed, rushing to the door. A cry of disappointment almost escaped her, as her eye fell on Gipsy in the act of dismounting. " Here I am, all aiive, like a bag of grasshoppers,' exclaimed Gipsy, as, gathering her riding-habit in her hand, she tripped with her usual airy motion up the garden walk. " How have you bee^ this age. Celeste ? My stars ! how pale you are ; have you been ill ?" *' I have not been very well for the past week," said Celeste, forcing a smile. " I am very glad to see yoa Come in." Gipsy entered ; and having saluted Miss Hagar, threw herself into a chair, and snatching off her hat, be- gan swinging it by the strings. Celeste took her sewing and seated herself by the window. ** Well, 1 declare ! we have had such times up at the Hall this week," said Gipsy. " Have you heard how I captured Big Tom ?" " No," said Celeste, in surprise ; whereupon Gipsy related what had occurred, ending with : " Old Mrs. Donne is still very sick, and raves at an appalling rate about babies, and snow-storms, and all such stuff. Big Tom's in prison, rapidly recovering from his wo'inds, which is good news for me • for I should be sorry to think I had killed the poor wretch. I should have come over to see you sooner, only Louis it going away, and we've all been as busy as nailers." *' Going away !" echoed Celeste, growing deadly pale. " Yes ; he leaves here to-morrow morning. He is going to Italj, and will not be back lor several years. 14 -M i. ■ Wi , &; Pt ",' ■ ^ ! r ' i ! 1 ■. ,' i;^ •-< '." ■ i ■ 1 .' (■ ■'' ' \' ^' I ' ^il 4 i 11 SU CELESTE'S 2 RIAL, But, my goodness ! Celeste, what's th« '.i.kt^tt ? Yon look as though you were going to faint ;" "It's nothing- — only :i sudden spasm, * said Celeste in a low, smoihered voice, dropping brr forehead on her hand, while her long, golden ringleta, falling like a vail over her face, hid it from view. "The notion took him so s»ish, I say ry, and you ne. Won't wonder and as a figure she said, re you sick, as she saw ishcd eyes, m. " Your ith. Come, 5 better, if :o her feet, Iked from ous. is about, ghe muttered to herself. "Wonder if Lous* departure has anything to do with it ? They've hud a quarrel, I siipi)ose, and Louis is going off in a huff. Well, it'i none of my business, anyway, so I sha'n't interfere. Louis looked as if he'd like to murder me when I asked him what he was going to do without Celeste, and walked off without evsr deigning to answer me. But I g'less I ain't afraid of him ; and if he hasn't behaved well to poor Celeste, I'll tell him a piece of my mind myway before he goes." And the soliloquizing Gipsy left the house and rode thoughtfully homeward. During the rest of that day and night Celeste did not leave her room. Miss Hai.;ar grew anxious, and several times came to her door to beg admittance, but the low (Toice within always said : " No, no : not now, I will be better to-morrow — only leave me alone." And, troubled and perplexed. Miss Hagar was forced Lo yield. Many times she approached the chamber door to listen, but all within was still as death — not the faint- 5St sound reached her ear. '* Has Miss Celeste left her room yet ?" inquired Miss Hagar, the following morning, of her sable handmaid. Curly. " Laws ! yes, missus • she corned outen her room fore de sun riz dis mornin' : an' I 'dare to goodness ! I ike to drop when I seed her. She was jes' as pale as a ,^hos', wid her eyes sunken right in like, an' lookin' irefful sick. She'd on her bunnit and shawl, and tole me to tell you she war a-goin' out for a walk. 'Deed, she needed a walk, honey, for her face was jes' as white as dat ar lable-cloff." "Where was she going?" inquired Miss Hagar, Alarmed. '* 'De€d, I didn't mind to ax lirr, cause she 'peared in » • I'" W pv. 1 3i« CELESTirS TRIAL. 'stress u' mind 'boul soinefin or udder. I .ooked arter her, dough, an' seed her take de road down to de skore," replied Curly. Still more perplexed and troubled by this strange and most unusual conduct on the part cf Celeste, Miss Hagar sealed herself at the breakfast-table, having vainly wailed an hour past the usual time for the return of the young girl. When Celeste left the cottage, it was with a mind filled with but one idea — that of seeing Louis once more Before he left. But few people were abroad when she passed through the village ; and descending to the beach, she seated herself behind a projecting rock, where, un- seen herself, she could behold him going away. Out on the glittering waves, dancing in the first rays of the morning sunlight, lay a schooner, rising and fall- ing lazily on the swell. It was the vessel in which Gipsy had told her Louis was to leave St. Mark's, and Celeste gazed upon it, with that passionate, straining gaze, with which one might look on a coffin, where the one we love best is about to be laid. Hours passed on, bu»; she heeded them not, as, seated on a low rock, with her hands clasped over her knees, she waited for his coming. After the lapse of some time, a boat put off from the schjoner, and, propelled by the strong arms of four sailors, soon touched shore. Three of them landed, an J took the road leading to Mount Sunset. Half an hour passed, and they reappeared, laden with trunks in^ valises, and followed by Louis and Gipsy. He seemed careless, even gay, while Gipsy wore a lad troubled look, all unused to her. Little did eithe of them dream of the wild, despairing eyes watchinj^ them, as if her very life were concentrated in that agon- izing gaze. ** Well, good-bye, nut beUe" laid Louii. with a last cm* m II i V CMLESTB'S TRIAL, VI #1 jked arter Ide sk ore," |is strange ;ste, Mi S3 having c return til a mind »Dce more when she the beach, vhere, un- i first raya I and fall- lich Gipsy nd Celeste gaze, with Hie we love 1, bu«: she her hands ing. ' from thfl s of four nded, an J f an honr unks «nd sy wore i Jid eithe watchinj^ bat agon* brace. "You perceive my boat is on the shoie, an:; nay bark is on the sea, and I must away." "Good-bye," repeated Gipsy, mechanically. He turned away and walked toward the boat, enteie»i it. and the seamen pushed off. Gipsy stood gazing aftei his tall, graceful form until the boat reached the schuoi;- er, and he ascended the deck. Then it danced away ir. the fresh morning breeze down the bay, until it becmie a mere bpeck in the distance, and then faded altogether trom view. Dashing away a tear, Gipsy turned to ascend the rocks, when the flutter of a muslin dress from behind a cliff caught her eye. With a vague presentiment flash- ing across her mind, she approached to sec who it was. / nd there she beheld Celeste, lyinj^ cald and WBtcleu ^A the sand. I last cm*' \< !'■ lit *'THE QUEEN OF SONG.* v\ ff M tt CHAPTER XXXIL " THE QUEEN OF SONO.** "Give me the boon of love — Renown is but a breath, Whose loudest echo ever float! From out the iialls of death. A loving t')-c beguiles ine more Than Fame's emblazon'd seal ; And one sweet note of tenderness, Than triumph's wildest peal." — TUCKSRUAH. i,RANMORE, my dear fellow, welcome back to Italy!" exclaimed a distinguished-look- ing man, as Louis — the day after his arrival in Venice — was passing through one ol the picturesque streets of that *' palace- crowned city." " Ah, Lugari ! happy to see you !" said Louis, ex- tending his hand, wliich was cordially grasped. " When did you arrive ?" asked the Italian, as, linking his arm through that of Louis, they strolled toward the "Bridge of the Rialto." " Only yesterday. My longings for Venice were too itrong to be resisted ; so I returned." " Then you have not heard our * Queen of Song ' yet?" inquired his companion. "No. Who is she?" "An angel ! a seraph ! the loveliest woman you evei beheld ! — sings like a nightingale, and has everybody rmving about her !" " Indeed ! And what is the name of this paragon ?'* " She is called Madame Evelini — a widow, I believe —English or Americaa by birth. She came here as pool RMAII. >me back hcd-look- lis arrival h one ol palace- <( l^ouis, ex- s, linking >vvard the were too )f Song' you eici rcrybody agon ••• [ believe 'ASpOOt "TVy^ QUEEN OF SONGr .'^ Jif u Job and as proud as Lucifer. N(nv, s!ic has nade a fortune on the stage ; but is as proud as ever. Half the men at Venice are sighing at licr feet ; but no icicle ever was colder than she — it is impossible to warm her into love. There was an Englisii duke here not long ago. who — with reverence be it spoken ! — had more monej than brains, and actually went so frr as to propose ma/ riage ; aad, to the amazement of himself and everybody else, was most decidedly and emphatically rejected. ' " A wonderful woman, indeed, to reject a ducal crown. When does she sing ?" "To-night. You must come witli me and hear her." " With pleasure. Look, Lugari — what a magnificent woman that is !" " By St. Peter ! it's the very woman we are speaking of — Madame Evelini herself !" exclaimed Lugari. * Come, we'll join her. I have the pleasure of her ac- quaintance. Take a good look at her first, and tell me if she does not justify my praises." Louis, with some curiosity, scrutinized the lady the) were approaching. She was about the middle height^ with an exquisitely-proportioned figure — a small, fair, but somewhat melancholy face, shaded by a profusion of pale-brown ringlets. Her complexion was exquisitely fair, with dark-blue eyes and beautifully chiseled fea- tures. As he gazed, a strange, vague feeling, that he had seen that face somewhere before, Hashed across his mind " Well, what do you think of her.'" said Lugari rousing him from a reverie into vvL.ch he was falling, " That she is a very lovely woman — there can be biu »ne opinion about that." " How old would you take her to be ?" ** About twenty, or twenty-three at the moiL" ** Phew ! she's over thirty." *< Oh, impossible .'" w 1 ■r •ii' Sao " THE QUEEN OF SONGr t» f''' : J ■II ••Fact, sir; I Iiad it from her own lips. Now I'll present you ; but take care of your lieart, tny ooy— few men can resist the tascinations of ihc Queen of Song." ** I have a counter-cliarni," said J^ouis, with a colli imilc. " Ihe memory of some fairer face in America, I sup pose. Well, we shall see. Good-morning, Madame Evelini," he said, acknowledging thai lady's salulatior.. "Charming day. Allow me to present to you my friend Mr. Oranmore." From tile first moment the lady's eyes had fallen on the face of Louis, she had gazed as if fascinated. Every trace of color slowly faded frt)in her lace, leaving her cold and pale as marble. As his name was uttered she reeled, as if she were faint, and grasped the arm of Lu- gari for support. " Whom did you say ?" she asked, in a breathless voice. '* Mr. Oranmore, a young American," replied Lugari, looking in amazement from the lady to Louis — who, quite as much amazed as himself, stood gazing upon her, lost in wonder. "Oranmore !" she exclaimed, unheeding their looki — " Oranmore I Surely not Barry Oranmore ?" " That was my father's name," replied the astonished Louis. A low cry broke from the white lips of the lady, as her hands flew up and covered her face. Lugari and Louis gazed in each other's faces in consternation. She dropped her hands at last, and said, in a low, hurried voice : " Excuse this agitat* 3n, Mr. Oranmore. Can I have the pleasure of a private interview with you ? * " Assuredly, madam," said the astonished Louis, ** Well, call at my residence in the Pdlazzo B— , thii ''THE QUEEIV OF SONOr J«« Now Ml ooy— few 'f Song." Ivith a colli Jrica, I sup MiicJame salutatiou. my friend fallen on ted. Every leaving her uttered she irin of Lu- i breathless ied Lugari, >ouis — who, azing upon their looki 3?" astonished he lady, as -ugari and ition. She *w, hurried Can I have Louis, ^thii ifternoon. And now I must ask you to excuse me, gen- tlemen. Good-morning." She hurried away, leaving the two young men OYtr- whelmed w'th a^iazenicnt. " What the deuce does this mean ?" said Lugari. "That's more than 1 can tell. I'm as much ia the dark as you are." "She cannot have fallen in love with him ulready," said Lugari, in the musing tone of one speakiat; to him self. Louis laughed. " Hardly, I think. I cannot expect to succeed where a royal duke failed." " There's no accounting for a woman's whims ; and he's confoundedly good-looking," went on Lugari, in the same meditative tone. " Come, Antonio, none of your nonsense,'' said T,oui« "Come with me lo my studio, and spend the morning with me. It will help to pass the time until the hour for calling on her ladyship," They soon reached the residence of the artist. The door was opened for them by a boy of such singular beauty, that Lugari stared at him in surprise and ad- miration. His short, crisp, black curls fell over a brow of snowy whiteness, and his pale face looked paler in contrast with his large, melancholy, black eyes. "Well, Isadore," spid Louis kindly, "has there been itny one here since ?" " No, signor," replied the boy, dropping his eyes, while a faint color rose to his cheek, as he met the pene- trating gaze of the stranger. "That wilJ do, thdn. Bring wine and cigartf And ICffVC U3 sly, Who «. aa you in Naples^ irge of him. •iend with a understanc I cigar, did T conversa" I one of the waiting the pitching in |n when he ng out her are at your onducc " couJd have like that," your sex. I have sent icarly, per- a moment, eager curi- okini; up " I was born in Gaiway. My father vas a poor farmer, and 1 was his only child. I grew up a wild, untutored country girl ; and reached the age of fifteen, knowing sorrow and trouble only by name. '' My occupation, sometimes, was watching my father's :h.eep on the mountain. One day, as I sat merrily sing ng to myself, a horseman, attracted by my voice, rode p and accosted me. I was bold and fearless, ana entered into conversation with him as if I had known him all my life — told him my name and residence ; and learned, in return, that he was a young American of respectable and wealthy connections, who had visited Galvvay to see a friend. " From that day forth, he was constantly with me ; and I soon learned to watch for his coming as I had never watched for any one before. Ho was rash, daring, and passionate ; and, captivated by my beauty (for I was handsome then), he urged me to marry him privately, and fly with him. I had never learned to control myself in anything ; and loving him with a passion that has never yet died out, I consented. I fled with him to England. There we were secretly wedded. He took me to France, where we remained almost a year — a year of bliss to me. Then he received letters demanding his immediate presence in America. He would have left me behind him, and returned for me again ; but I refused to leave him ; 1 therefore accompanied him to his native land, and a few weeks after — one stormy Christmas Eve — my child, a daughter, was born. *' I never saw it but once. The nurse must have drugged me — for I have a dim recollection of a long long sleep, that seemed endless , and when I awoke, I found myself in a strange room with the face of a strange woman bending over me. To my wi.d, bewildered in- quiries, she answered, that I had been very ili, and m? 1* I" hi V- ! '•• ]i ■> u 3*4 TJIB QUEEN OF SONG. life despaired of for several weeks; but that I was no';^ reco.ciiii^. i a>ked for my husband and child. Sh-: knew lioih'iLg of them, she said. I had been bruu:;!:: there in a carriage, after night, by a man .vhoso feature: she could not recognize — he was so muffled up. He hai' paid her liberaMy for taking charge of me, and promise. to return to see me in a few weeks. •* I v.'as a child in years and wisdcni, and susperic. nothing. I felt angry at his desertion, and cried like llu petted child I was, at his absence. The woman was very kind to me, thougji I saw siie looked upon me with i, sort of contempt, the reason of which I did n(»t tiu n unGerstand. Still, she took good care of me, and in a fortnight I was as well as ever. *' One evening, I sat in my room silent and alone (for / was not periiiitted to go out), and crying like a spoiled baby, Vvhen the sound of a weil-known voice reached my ear Irom the adjoining room. With a cry of joy, I sprang to my feet, nished from the room, and fell into the arms of my husband. In my joy at mcetii g him, I did not perceive, at first, the change those few weeks had made in him. He was pale and haggard, and there was an uoaccountable something in his manner "ihat puzzled me. He was not less afifectionate ; but he se-^med wild, and restless, and ill at ease. 'My first inquiry was for my child. * Ir is dead, Eveleen,' he answered, hurriedly ; and you were so ill that it became necessary to bring yoi^ here. 1m ow that you are better, you must leave this and come with me.' "*And you will publicly proclaim our marriage, and we will not be separated n^ore ?' I eagerly inquired. " He made no answer, save to urge me tx> make hattc; In a few moments I was ready ; a carriage at the ' :' ^'THE QUEEN OF SONG. 3»5 1 1 was noi^ 'n brui.'--';: ■>c* feature" jp. He ha.' (d protiiic^r. susperJc. ied iikeiiu n was wsy me with a id ndt t.'u n e and in a and alone ying like a lown voice 'itli a cry of )m, and fel) at mceiirt: ; those few aggard, and fiis manner ite ; but he Bdly ; and bring yoii ve this and marriage. Y inquired. 5 tv> make iage at the door. He handed me in, then followed, and we dro^e rapidly away. " * Where are we going '' I asked, as we drove along. " * Back to Ireland ; you are always wishing to re- turn.' " ' But you will go with me, will you not ?' I asked, in vague alarm. " ' Yes, yes ; to be sure,* he answered, q lickly. Just then, the murmur of the sea reached my ear ; the carriage stopped, and my husband assisted me out. "A boat was in waiting on the shore. We both en- tered, and were rowed to the vessel lying in the harbor. I reached the deck, and was ccnductea below to a well- furnished cabin. "'Now, Eveleen, you look fatigued and must retire to rest. I am going on deck to join the captain for a few hours,' said my husband, as he gently kissed my brow. His voice was low and agitated, and I could see his face was deadly pale. Still, no suspicion of the truth entered my mind, I was, indeed, tired; and wearily dis engaging myself from the arms that clasped mc in a parting embrace, I threw myself on my bed, and in af ^w minutes was fast asleep. My husband turned eway and went on deck, and — I never saw him more." Her voice failed, and her lips quivered ; but after a fev» moments she went on. ''The next morning the captain entered the cabin and handed me a letter. I opened it in surprise. A draft for five thousand dollars fell ovX, but I saw it not ; my eyes were fixed in unspeakable horror on the dreadfu- woras before me. '* Tke letter was from my husband. He told rne that we were parted forever, that he had wedded another bride, and that the vessel I was in would convey me home, where ho hoped I would forget him, and look ^1 [' •' ■' M-'- i I: 1.' *. if I; i if ■^1 i $96 u THE QUEEN OF SONG: upon the past year only as a dream. I read that errible letter from beginn.ng to end, while every word burned into my heart and brain like fire. I did not faint nor shriek ; T was of too sanguine a temperament to do eithei ; but 1 sat in stupefied despair ; I was stunned ; I could not realize what had happened. The captain brought me a newspaper, and showed me the announce ment of his marriage to some great beauty and heiress — some Miss Erliston, who " " What !" exclaimed Louis, springing fiercely to his feet. "In the name of heaven, of whom have you been talking all this time?" " Of my husband — of your father— of Barry Oran- more !" He staggered into his seat, horror-stricken and deadly white. There was a pause, then he said, hoarsely : " Go on." " I know not how that voyage passed — it is all like a dream to me. I reached Liverpool. The captain, who had been well paid, had me conveyed home ; and still I lived and moved like one who lives not. I was in a stupor of despair, and months passed away before I re- covered ; when I did, all my childishness had passed away, and I was in heart and mind a woman. "Time passed on. I had read in an American paper the announcement of my false husbaad's dreadful death. Years blunted the poignancy of my grief, and I began to tire of my aimless life. He had often told me my voice would make my fortune on the stage. Acting on this hint, I went to London, had it cultivated, and learned music. At last, after years of unremitting ap- plication, I made my debut. It was a triumph, and every fresh attempt crowned me with new laurels. I next risited France then I came here ; and here I have been '*THE QUEEN OF SONG: 327 t, i-'i lat crrible >rd burned faint nor ^ent to do [tunned ; I le captain lannounce- md heiress |cely to his you been irry Oran- icken and I he said, s all like a iptain, who and still I I was in a Jefore I re- lad passed ican paper dful death, nd I began Id me mv Acting on '^ated, and litting ap- and every )• I next have been ever since. To-day, when I beheld you, the verj image of your father as I knew him first, I almost imagined the j^rave had given up its dead. Such is my story — every word true, as heaven hears me. Was I not right, when i said it concerned you more nearly than you im- agined ?" " Good Heaven ! And was my father such a villain ?" said Louis, with a groan. " Hush ! Speak no ill of the dead. I forgave him long ago, and surely you can do so too." " Heaven help us all I what a world we live in I" said Louis, while, with a pang of remorse, his thoughts re- verted to Celeste ; and he inwardly thought how similai her fate might have been, had she consented to go with him. " And was your child really dead ?" he inquired, aftei a pause, during which she sat with her eyes fixed sadly on the floor. " He may have deceived you in that as in other things." " I know not," she answered ; "yet I have always had a sort of presentiment that it still lives. Oh, if heaven would but permit me to behold her alive, I could die happy !" Louis sat gazing upon her with a puzzled look. "I know not how it is," he said, "but you remind me strangely of some one I have seen before. I recognize your face, vaguely and indistinctly, as one does fuces they see in dreams. I am -mre I have seen some one re sembling you elsewhere." " Only fancy, I fear,' said the lady, smiling, and shaking her head. "Do you intend hearing me sing to-night ?" " Oh, decidedly ! Do you ^hink I would miss what 9ne might make a pilgrimage round the world to hear cacc?" : : i^ i 'tf iM»^ %r ■ f '\ Ik: I 'i II i i-» A STARTLING DISCOVER V. "Flattery ! flattery! I see you are like all the rt6L,' ■aid Madame Evelini, raising her flnger reprovingly. " Not so, madam ; I never flatter. And now I regret that a previous engagement renders it necessary for mc to leave you," said Louis, taking his hat and rising lo cave. " Well, I shall expect to see you soon again," she said, with an enchanting smile ; and Louis, haviu bowed assent, left the house ; and, giddy and bewii dered by what he had just heard, turned in the di recti on of his own residence. CHAPTER XXXIII. A STARTLING DISCOVKHY. " Fixed was her look and stem her air ; Back from her shoulders streamed her hair ; Her figure seemed to rise more high ; Her voice, Despair's wild energy Had given a tone of prophecy." — Makmion. EEKS passed away. Louis became a daily visitor at the Palazzo B . His growiiii^ intimacy with the beautiful "Queen ot Song " was looked upon with jealous eyes b}' her numerous admirers ; and many were tho rumors circulated regarding her affection for the hand- some young American. But Madame Evelini was either too proud or too indifferent to heed these reports, and visited Louis in kis studio whenever she pleased, leav- ing the world to say of her what it listed. Louis, too, was winning fame as an artist, and, next to madame her 3: A STARTLING DISCOVERY, the rest,' [vingly. ►w I regret Jary for iric Id rising lu [gain," she |is, havirj:>- mcl bewii^ in the di- e a daiijf s growing )ueen ot us eyes b}' '■ were xha the hand- vas either ports, and sed, Iea\-. ouis, too, iame her 329 •el^, was becoming one of the greatest celebrii.es in Venice. " What a handsome boy that attendant of yours is !" said the lady, one day, to Louis, as Isadore quitted tlie room ; " all wlio visit you vie with each other in theii praises of his beauty." " Who ? Isadore ? Yes, he is handsome ; but a most singular youth — silent; taciturn, at times almost hercc and at others, sullenly morose." " He seems to have a strong antipathy to ladies, ar J to me in particular," said Madame Evelini ; "he looks as if he wished to shut the door in my face every time i come here." '' Yes, that is another of his oddities ; in fact, he is quite an unaccountable lad." " He is very much attached to yau^ at all events. If he were a woman, I should say he is in love with yuu, h^d jealous of the rest of us," said madame, laughing, '•As it is, it can only be accounted for by ill-nature on his part. Well, adieu !" said madame, rising to take her leave. Louis soon had a most convincing proof of the lad's attachment. Being detained one evening, by some busi- ness, in one of the narrow courts inhabited by the lower class in \'enice, he returned with a vie lent headache. He grew worse so rapidly, that before night he was in a high fever, raving deliriously. A physician was sent for, who pronounced it to be n dangerous and most infectious fever, and advised hia immediate removal to a hospital, where he might recei-, better attendance than he could in his lodgings, But Isadore positively refused to have him removed, vehe- mently asserting that he himself was quite competent to take care of him. And well did he redeem his word. No mother ever I L' ' ■y i.-; . 330 A STARTLING DISCOVERY, .11 nursed her sick child with more tender :are than he did Louis. Nis^ht and day he was ever by his side, bathing his burning brow, or he ding a cooling draught to his feverish lips. And though his paie face grew paler day after day, and his lustrous black eyes lost their bright- ness with his weary vigils, nothing could tempt him fronri that sick room. Witii womanly care, he arranged the pillows beneath the restless head of the invalid , drew the curtains to exclude the glaring light, totally unheeding the danger of contagion. With jealous vigilance, too, be kept out all strangers. Madame Eve- lini, upon liearluL; of her friend's illness, immediately came Lo see him, but she was met in the outer room by Isadore, who said, coldly : " You cannot see him, madame ; the physician has forbidden it." " But only for one moment. I will not speak to him, or disturb him," pleaded Madame Evelini. "No; you cannot enter. It is impossible," said Isa- dore, as he turned and left the room, fairly shutting the door in her face. In his wild delirium, Louis talked incessantly of Celeste, and urged her with passionate vehemence to fly with him. At such times, the dark brow of Isadore Kould knit, and his eyes flash with smoldering fire beneath their lids. But if his own name was mentioned, his beautiful face would light up with such a radiant look of light and joy, that he seemed recompensed for c&ll his weary watching and unceasing care. At length, a naturally strong constitution, and the tender nursing of Isadore triumphed over disease, and Louis became convalescent. And then he began to realize all he owed to the boy who had been his guardian* angel during his illness. "How can I ever repay you. Isadore ?** he said, one A STAR TLING DISCO VE R Y. 33^ pan he did |e, bathing :lH to his paler day [eir b right - smpt him arranged invalid , It, totally [h jealous amo Eve- I mediately r room by sician has -ak to him, said Isa- iutting the ssantly of ence to fly )f Isadore ering fire mentioned, a radiant enscd for I, and the ease, and began to guardian- said, one day, as the youth hoveicd by lis side, smoothing the tossed pillows, and arranging !he bed-clothes with a skill few nurses could have surpassed. ** ! wish for no return, signer. I am only oo happy to have been of service to you," said the boy, dropping his eyes. "Well, at least, you will find I am not ungrateful Once I am well, you shall no longer remain a servant I will place you in a fair way to make your fortune,' said Louis. " Sigaor, I beg you will not think of such a thing. 1 have no wish to leave you," said Isadore, in alarm. "But with me you will only be an obscure servant, while it is in my power to place you in a situation to become honored and wealthy." *' 1 would rather remain with you." " Strange boy ! Why are you so anxious to stay with me ?" " Because " " Well r " Because I love you, Signor," said the boy, while his whole face, a moment before so pale, grew vivid crimson. Louis looked at him in surpriS.*;. "And what have I done lor yoa, that you should love me so?" he asked, at length. " Do we only love those who have conferred :avor> upon us, Signor ?" "Well, genendly speaking, among men it is so. 2 vou were a woman, now, it would be different," said Louis, laughing. "Would you love me, if I were a woman ?" asked the boy, in a tone so abrupt and startling that Louis gazed at him in wonder, * -y past." " [la, ha, ha ! Vou might take me back to America that 1 might witness your marriage with CcicsLe. No^ Louis Oranmore, never shall ^he enjoy sucii a triumph ! I have hated her all my life ; and I shall hate her with my last breath. Do you think 1 could live and survive this disgrace ? Vou have driven me to madness ; and now behold its fruits." Her voice was hoarse with concentrated passion ; txcx eyes burning like fire ; her face ghastly and livid. As she spoke, she drew from within the doublet she wore a gleaming dagger. As the quick eye of Louis saw the motion, he sprang forward and seized her by the wrist. She struggled madly to free herself from his grasp ; and in the struggle the point of the dagger entered her t/'e. A torrent of blood flowed over his hands. Sl.riek after shriek of mortal agony broke from the lips of Minnette The fatal dagger dropped from the hand of Louis — he iilaggcred back, and stood for a moment par- alyzed with horror. Mad with agony, Minnette fled -1 ■I m « M I' ; if if J36 LIGHT IN DARKNESS. her bed. The surgeon, an Englishmnn, at length arrived: and Louis, at last restored to presence of m'nd, speedily expelled the gaping crowd, and shut himself up in his own room, unable to endure the harrowing sight of Min- nette's agony. For upwards of two hours he tiDdup and down, almost maddened by the recollection of the dreadful scene just past. Bitter, indeed, was his angiiisl, and remorse ; in those two hours seemed concentrated ages of suffering. Suddenly the sound of footsteps announced that chc physician was about to take his leave. Hurriedly leav- ing the room, Louis followed him, scarcely daring to ask the question that hovered upon his lips. "Tell me !" he exclaimed, vehemently, "is she — will she " " No, she will not die," replied the doctor, who knew what he would ask. " The wound is dangerous, but not mortsl She must be taken care of. I will have her im- mediately removed from here." " Then she will recover !" said Louis, fervently, *^ Thank God!" " Yes, she will recover," said the doctor, hesitating- ly, " but " " But what ?" exclaimed Louis, in vague alarm. " She will be blind for lifer " Great heaven !" " Her right eye is already gone, and the other, I fear, will never more see the light. Still, you should be grateful that her life will be preserved." And the sur- geon took his hat and left. " Blind ! blind for life !" murmured Louis, in horror : " a £ate "vorse than death. Oh, Minnette ! Minnette I" UGBT W DAJtftlTMSS, SIT ■I ' rth arrived Id, speedily in his own H of Min- ' he ti Dd up [ion of the lis anguisl )ncentrate(d ed fhat the riedly leav- iring to ask is she— win who knew 5US, but not lave her im- , fervently, hesitating* larm. her, I fear, should be id the sur- in hoiror • inette t" The lingering glory of an Italian sunset wai stream*- ing through the open window of the room where Min- nctte lay. It was a plainly, but neatly furnished room, in one of the Scuole^ or benevolent institatians of the city. Two months had passed since that unhappy day on which we saw her last. She lies now on the bed, the Kunlight falling brightly on her wan face ; that blessed sunlight she will never see more. A Sister of Mercy, with holy face and meek eyes, sits by her side, holding one of her hands in hers. And this is Minnette ; this pale, faded, sightless girl, the once beautiful, haughty, resplendent Minnette ! All her beauty was gone now ; the glowing crimson of high health rests no longer on those hollow, sunken cheeks ; the fierce light of passion will never more flash from those dimmed orbs ; from those poor, pale lips, bitter, scathing words can never more fall. But through ail this outward wreck shines a calmer, holier beauty than ever rested on her face before. !n the furnace, she has been purified ; the fierce, passionate spirit has been sub- dued by grace ; the lion in her nature has yielded to the Lamb that was slain ; the wrung, agonized heart has ceased to struggle, and rests in peace at last. Not without many a struggle had her wild, fierce nature yielded to the soothings of religion. Long, tempestuous, and passionate was the struggle ; and when her good angel triumphed at last she came, not aa a meek penitent, but as a worn, world-weary sinner, longing only for peace and rest. She had not seen Louis during her illness. Often he came to visit her, but still her cry was : *' Not yet I not yet !" Her wild, mad love was dying out of her heart, and with it her intense hatred of Celeste. Her dj»yt now, were spent in meditation and prayer, or listening t« the gentle, soothing words of Sister Beatrice ■■(>'■ ; i t' ¥, •4 ,t; ^ ■ ■ " *« -. ■ ^S Ui ■((I 338 LIGHT IN DARKNESS, •'The SUD is setting, sistf-r, is it not ?" she asked, tjin- ing her head towards the windows, as though she still coo Id see. •* Yes ; a more glorio-us sunset I never beheld." "And I can never see it more; never behold the beautiful earth or sky ; never see sun, or moon, or stars again !" said Minnette., in a V(jice icjw, but unspeakabljf sad. ** No, ray ciiild, but there is an inward vision that can never be seen with corporeal eyes. Now that those out- ward eyes are sealed forever, a glimpse of heaven has been bestowed upon you, to lighten the darkness of your life " " Oh ! Sister Beatrice, if I were always with you, I feel I could submit to my fate withoat a murmur. But when I go out into the world, this fierce nature that is within me. that is subdued but not conquered, will again arise ; and I will become more passionate, selfish, and sinful than ever." "Then why go out into the world any more? Why not enter a convent, and end your days in peace ?" " Oh, sister ! if I only might," said Minnette, clasp log her hands ; " but 1, poor, blind, and helpless, what could I do in a convent ?" " You could pray, you could be happy ; if you wish to enter your blindness shall be no obstacle," said Sister Beatrice. At thiS moment a servant entered and handed the sister a note, addressed to Minnette. She opened it, and read aloud : " Every day for a month I have called here, and you have refused to see me. Minnette, I conjure you to let me visit you ; I cannot rest until ! have seen you, and obtained your forgiveness. Louis.*' LIGHT IN DARKNESS. S3f Lsked^tjin. ^h she still leld." behold the jon, or stars nspeakabljf ion that can t those out- heaven has nessof your with you, I rmur. But ture that is [, will again selfish, and lore? Why ace ?" nette, clasp- ipless, what f you wish ' said Sister handed the opened it, :e, and you ! you to let n you, and Louift." Minnette's pale face flush jd deep cikiison, and then grew whiter than bel'oic, as she said, vehemently : ** No, I will iiol ! I will nut ! I cannot see liim more !" "Why not?" said Sister Beatrice. "Confess, my child, tliat vanity still lingers in your heart. You do not wish to see him because you think he will be shocked to find you so changed and altered. Is it not so?" " Yes, yes !" replied Minnette, in a fainting voice. "But tiiis is wrong ; you ought to see him. As you are desirous of taking the vail, it is but right that you should see him, and bid him farewell, and let him inform your friends when he sees them. Come, my dear child, cast out this spirit of pride, and let me admit him, if only for a moment." There was a fierce struggle in the breast of Minnette. It was but momentary, however, as, shading her face with one hand, she said : ** Be it so ; I will endure the humiliation ; let him come." Sister Beatrice pressed her lips to the brow of the in- valid, and left the room. A moment later, and Louis, pale, thin, and careworn, entered. He started, and grew a shade paler, as his eyes fell on that poor, pale face, robbed of all its beauty, and with a suppressed groan, sank on his knees by the bedside. "Minnette! Minnette!" he said, hoarsely. "Can you ever forgive me ?" The sightless eyes v;ere turned toward him, in the vain effort to see. Alas ! All was darkness. She held out one little, transparent hand, which he took between both of his. " I have nothing to forgive," she said, meekly. " All that has happened to me I deserved. Do not grieve for 'I !ii 'i:; 'r %, 'Um, J ■• : ( ^^' .& .1*1 t J' '?! t# 11 ^ !f S4« Z/C-^r /AT VAJRKNMSS, me, Louis, you have nothing to reproach yourself with, it was all my own fault." He bowed his forehead on her hand, and tears, that did honor to his generous heart, fell from his eyes. " Tell Celeste, when you see her, how sorry I am for aU my cruelty and injustice toward her. Ask her to for- give me ; she is good and gentle, I feel she will do it. if I only had her pardon, I feel I could die content And, Oh Louis ! when she is happy with you, will you both sometimes think of Minnette, blind, and alone in a foreifT:n land ?" " O\\,poor Minnette !" he said, in a choking voice. " Do not pity me, Louis ; I am very happy," but the pale lips trembled as she spoke ; " happier than I ever was when I was full of life and health. Oh, Louis, when I look back and think of what I have been — so selfish, and hard-hearted, and cruel — I tremble to think what I might yet have been if God in his uiercy had not sent me this affliction. And Celeste ; no words can ever tell how I have wronged her. Vou know how I struck her, in my blind rage, and the angelic patience and for- giveness with which she afterward sought to love me, and make me happy. Oh, Louis ! all her sweetness and meekness will haunt me to my dying day." Her voire faltered, then entirely failed, and for the fcrst time in her life the once haughty Minnette wept. ** Tears are strange visitors to these eyes," she said, with a sad smile ; "there may be hope for me yet, since I can weep for the past. Louis, in a few weeks I will enter a convent, and the remainder of my life shall be spent in praying for you and Celeste, and the rest of my friends. And now you must leave me — farewell, a last farewell, dear Louis. Tell them all at home how I have learned to love them at last, and ask them to fcrg ive poor Minnette." 11 .' «■" jif with . ^ars, that res. I am for |er to for- ^ill do it. content will you jilone in a voice. " but the lan I ever )h, Louis, been — so to think :y had not Is can ever w I struck B and for- ) love rae, stness and id for the J wept. she said, yet, since eks I will shall be est of my ell, a last :>w I have o fcrg ive TIf£ DEATH- 3 ED CONFESSION. S4> He could not speak ; she made a sign fc" him to go. Raising the thin, pale hand to his lips, and casting one lonj;, last look on the sad, yet peaceful face dtf the once bej.utiful M lunette, he quitted the room. And thus they parted, these two, never to meet in life again. Meantime, we must revisit St. Mark's, and witness the startling events that are bringing matters to a rapid denouement there. CHAPTER XXXV. THE DEATH-BED CONFESSION. '* Her wretched brain gave way, Aad she became a wreck, at random drirett. Without one glimpse of rersou or of Heaven.** |T was a bleak, stormy December eveninf^, a week before Christmas. A bright fire wai burning in the well-known parlor of Sunset Hall. In his easy-chair, with his gouty legs, swathed in flannels, reposing on two others, lay our old friend the squire, literally ** laid up by the legs." lathe opposite 'Corner was Lizzie, dozing, as usual, on her sofa; A'hile good Mrs. Gower sat with her fat hands folded in her lap, reposing after the cares of the day. Dr. Wise- man had not yet sufiiciently recovered from his wounds and bruises to go abroad, and had just retired to his room, while hii affectionate spouse was enjoying herself at a grand ball in the villa[;e. The worthy trio had sat in solemn silence for upwards .'v ■' ■ )v i 342 TWiS: DEATH-BED CONI ESSION. of an hour, wlien the door was flung open, and Jupitei rished in to announce "dat a boy cooimanded to sec oie marster 'mediately." "To see me?" said the sq lire, in amazement *• What does he want ? I won't see an^ body to-night." " He's got a letter, and says he must d'liver it to-night — it's very important," said Jupiter. "Humph ! well, admit him tlien. I never can get a minute's peace. ' No rest for the wicked,' as Solomon says. Well, here h\? comes." As he spoke, a j^outh, apparently about sixteen, en- tered the apartment, bearing every evidence of having journeyed fast. " You are Squire Erliston, I believe," said the lad. bowing respectfully. " Well, you may believe it," said the squire, testily ; " it's a name I was never ashamed of. What do you want of me at this hour of the night, young man ?" ** I have been sent with this letter," said the boy, pro* senting one ; " it's a matter of life and death." " Matter of life and death ! Lord bless me !" ex- claimed the astonished squire, *' what can it mean ? Hand me my spectacles, Mrs. Goucr, and put them on my nose, till I overhaul this document. Maybe it con- tains state-treason, a gunpowder plot or something. * The pen is mightier tlian the sword,' as Solomon says ; though I'll be shot if I believe it. Solomon didn't know much about swords, and acted queer sometimes — didn't behave well to his wife, th^y say. Humph ! well, here goes." So saying, the squire opened the letter and began t.o r«ad. And as he read, his eyes began to protrude, till they threatened to shoot from his head alf ogetbcr. THf letter ran as follows : Jupitei Id to sefi lazemeDt, -night." ' to-night |an get a |Solomon teen, en- )f having the lad. testily ; you want boy, pro- me ex- t mean ? them on e it con- • mething. ion says ; n't know s — didn't ell, here 3egan to ude, til] cr. TKf TII£ DEATH-BED CONFESSION, 34$ "Magnus Erliston : Come to me immediately — am dying. I have something to tell you of the utmost im- portance, and I cannot die with it on my conscience. Above all things, di) not, for your life, breathe a word of this to Dr. Wiseman. Come instantly, or you may re- pent it. Madge Oranmore." " Now, what in the name of Beelzf bub does the woman mean ?" exclaimed the squire, as he finished reading this. " How does she expect a man to turn out on a December night, with the gout in his legs? I say, youngster, do you know who sent you with this precious letter ?" "Yes, sir ; my mistress, Mrs. Oranmore." " And what's the matter with her, may I ask >" " She has been ailing for some time ; and a week ago, her illness took a dangerous turn. The doctors say she has but few days to live, and she seems to be anxious about some secret that preys on her mind. I have not rested day or night since I started fcr this place. I fear she will not live until I get back, unless you make haste." " I know not what to do," said the squire, evidently appalled. " I'd like to ses the old lady before she leaves this * vale of tears,* as Solomon says, but how the mis- chief I'm to go, I can't tell. If she could only put off dying for a month or two, now, I'd go with pleasure, but I suppose she can't conveniently 'Time and tide wait for no man,' as Solonr.on says. I mustn't tell old Wiseman, either, it seems — hum-m-m ! 'Pon mv I'fc, I don't know what to say about it." All this was muttered in a sort of soliloquy ; and as he ceased, the merry jingle of bells approaching the house saluted his ears. The next momenti Gipfj, (' ■ \ S , 1 0" A fu' ■ { H ■ pi 'it, f 344 TJfM DEATH BED CONFESSJOJf. wrapped up in shawls, and hoods, and furs, fresh and bright AS a daisy, danced into the rcom, exclaiming : " Here I am. good folks ! The ball was a horrid stupid affair, without a bit of tun, so I thought I'd come home." Hen.,, catching sight of the stranger, Gipsy favored him with a stare of surprise, and was about to leave the room, when the squire called : '' Come back here, monkey ; I'm in a confoundeo scrape, and I want ou to help mc out of it.'' ' All right ; just hint what it ir will you ? and I'll have you out of it in a iwinkiing." "Read that/' said the squire, placing the mysterious better in her hand. Gipsy read it, and then exclaimed : " Well, there's some mystery here — that's ctrtain, But you can't go, can you, Guardy?" " To be sure I can't. You might as well expect Mrs. Gower, there, to dance the double shuffle, as expect me to go on such a journe3^" "Well, Spider's not to know of it, and he couldn't go if he did, with his dilapi .ated continuations ; Aunty Liz can't travel and lie asleep on a sofa at the same time ; and Aunty Gower, poor woiiiaii ! can't travex up stairs, under half an hour's panting and groaning ; so i^one of them can go, t/iafs demonstrated — as old Mr. Black- board used to say. Eh ! Guardy ?" " Yes, yes. But what's to be donf, I" " Why, it's very clear what's to be dene. Fll go I" " You" said the squire, with a stare. " What good ciUB you do ?" * Come, now ! I like that ! I'll leave it to every- body, if I'm not worth the whole of you put together. Air't I, now ?" "Mrs. Oraumore won't tcMyou her secret.' " Well, if she doc'>^ she'll lose the wisest, :2ici«K ^^'•^fcui fresh and [ming : a horrid I'd come fr, Gipaj about to nfoundeo and I'll lysterioua s ccrtaio, pect Mrs. !xpect me couldn't s ; Aunty imetimr ; up stairs, 3 I^o^e of r. Black- Vgo! ^ood o everjr- ogether. t, .aUDett TS£ DEATH-BED CONFESSION, J45 xensibUst cor.fidrinte ever anybody had, though I say it Any way, I'll try ; and if she won't tell, why, she'll have to leave ir. alone — that's all. Wiien do you start ?" she asked, tui ninj^ to the youth. " Now, if )'ou're roudy," replied the lad. " Yes, I'm ready. IIow did you come ? by the stage?" " No, in a sleigli — it's at tlie door." Well, then, I won't detain you. Good-bye for a v/eek, Guardy ; good-bye, Aunty Gower. Off we go!" " Hadn't you better stay till morning," said Mrs. Gower, anxiously. " It is too cold and stormy to travel by nir^ht." " And in the meantime this old lady may give up the ghost. No ; there's no time to lose ; and besides, I rather like the idea of a journey, to vary the monotony of St. Mark's, Good-bye all — I leave you my blessing,'' said Gipsy, with a partr.ii^ tiourish, as she left the room and took her place by the side of the boy in the sleigh. Nothing remarkable occurred on the jt>urney. Gipsy, comfortably nestled under the buffalo robes, scarcely felt the cold. The next morning they halted at a wayside inn to take breakfast, and then dashed off again. Owing to the state of the roads it was late in the afternoon when they reached the city ; and almost dark when Gipsy, preceded by her companion, entered the gloomy home of Mrs. Gran more. " My stars ! what a dismal old tomb, k realiy smells of ghosts and rats, and I sliould not wonder if it was teniinted by both," was Gipsy's internal comment as she passed up the long, dark staircase, and longer, darker hall, and entered the sick-room of Mrs. Oranmore — the longest and darkest of all. Si retched on a hearse-like bed — stiff, stark, and rigid, as though she were already d«ad- -lay Madge Orinmoire — her face looking likesomt f i ^^r I'- ;':Ui if ^^ Si: .Jit. ' '.*■' ' t i f ,i: ' ^ ■ I: ■ ^ • vl 1 r 346 r^^ DEATH BUD CONFESSION, grim, sreni mask carved in iron An old woman, whom the boy addressed as " mother," sat oy her side. The invalid started quickly at the scund of thsi: footsteps ; and seeing the boy, exclaimed, in a faint, yd eaqer and imperious tone : " Has he come ?" "No; he is ill, and could not come," said Gipsy, stepping forward. " lie is unable to walk, so I have come in his siead." " Who are you ?" demanded Mrs. Oranmore, sharply "Well, really, I'd be obliged to anybody who would ^ell me — at present, it's more than I know. I used to ..hink I ^"as Gipsy Gower — Squire Erliston's ward; but, of late, I've found out 1 don't behjng to anybody in par- ticular. 1 was picked up, one nigiit, as if I had been a piece of drift-wood ; and I expect, like Venus, I rose from the sea." ** Girl, have you come here to mock me?" exclaimed Dame Oranmore, fiercely. "The saints forbid ! I'm telling you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I was picked up one Christmas eve, nineteen years ago, on the beach, about a quarter of a mile from here ; and — good Heaven ! what's the matter with you ?" exclaimed Gipsy, springing back. With the shriek of a dying panther, Mrs. Oranmore sprung up in her bed, with her eyes starting from their sockets, as she fairly screamed : " What ! Heaven of heavens ! did he not drowB you ?" " Why, no ; \ ratner think not — at least, if I ever wai drowned, I have no recoi cation of it. But, my good- ness ! don't glare at me so — yo:iVe absolutely hideout enough to make every hair on a body's head stand per- pendicular, with those :yes of yours." !i Lo, whom of th«i; Ifaint, jrct d Gipsy, po I have |, sharply o would used to ard ; but, ly in par- id been a IS, I rose xclaimed ruth, the IS picked he beach, Heaven ! springing >ranmore om their >t drowa ever wai ly good- ' hideoui tand per' THE DEATH BED CONFESSION. 347 " How were you saved ?" Answer me that I How were you saved?" {iL(;iin screamed the excited woman. "Well, 1 don't recollect much a!)out it myself; but Mrs. Gower told me, the otlicr day, that she found me rolled up in a shawl, on the beach like an Esquimaux papoose asleep in a snow-bank. I liaven't any notion who the * he' is you speak of ; but if ' he' left me there to turn into an icicle, 1 only wish I could see him, and tell him a piece of my mind — that's all." ''And this was Christinas eve, nineteen years ago?" exclaimed Madge Oranmore, breathlessly. '• Yes." "Great Heaven ! how just is tli)^ retribution ! And nt last, in my dying hour, 1 behold before mc the child of Esther Erliston and Alfred Uranmore !" exclaimed the dying woman, falling back on her pillow, and clasping her hands. " What!" exclaimed Gipsy, springing forward, and seizing her by the arm, " Whose child, did you say I was ?" "The only daughter of Esther Erliston and Alfred Oranmore ; and heiress, in your mother's right, of Mount Sunset Hall," replied Mrs, Oranmore. " And grandchild of Squire Erliston ?" ' Yes." Gipsy staggered back, and covered her face with her !{ands. Her emotion was but momentary however ; and Rgain approaching the bed, she said, in a tone that was perfectly calm, though her wild, excited eyes spoke a different tale : " Tell me all about this. How came I to be left to perish on the shore ?" " Leave the room, both of you," said the sick woman, to her attendants. They obeyed. ' Now sit dow* 'I' Tl '4 ', A'* '% i' 34« T^£ DEATH-BSD CONIESSION. beside me," she continued, turning to Gipsy ; ' and tell me, are you married ?" " Yes, they say so — to old Dr Nicholas Wiseman." •' Great heaven ! wiiat did you suy ?" excliiimed Mra Oranmore, in a vuicc of horror. " Yes. It's surprising, ain't it, that I married that old man. But that's got nothing to do with your story. Go on," urged Gipsy. " Child ! child I" said the dying woman faintly, ^y§u have wedded the murderer of your mother ^ With a low, sharp cry Gipsy sprang to her feet— her countenance blanched to the hue of death. "Did he know your history?" asked Mrs. Oranmore^ breaking the long pause that followed. " Yes ; he heard it a few weeks before we were mar- ried," said Gipsy, in a voice that was hoarse and un- ■atural. 'Then he married you that he might possess Mount Sunset. Oh, the villainy of that wretch ! But let him beware ! for the day of retribution is at hand." "Tell me all, from the beginning," said Gipsy, seat- ing herself, and speaking in a tone as stern, and with a face as firm and rigid, as that of tlie grim invalid her- self ; but those eyes — those eyes — how they blazed ! There is little need to recapitulate the tale told to Gipsy — she related only what the reader already knows; the death of Esther by her instigation, but by his han^. and the infant left to perish in the waves. "I suppose he left you on the shore, thinking thfl waves would wash you away," concluded Mrs. Oran* more, "when you were providentially saved by the same Almighty power that guarded Moses in his cradle ol bulrushes. I supposed you had perished, and so did he ; but the agonies of remorse I have suffered for what I have done, I can never reveal. Nighi and day, Bleeping r and tell leman." ted Mra that old tory. Go tly, "jw* feet— her )raninore^ vere mar- '■ and un- :ss Mount t let him ipsy, seat- nd with a ^alid her- zed ! le told to y knows; lis hand, king th« "s. Orao* the same cradle of 3 did he ; r what I sleeping TUM DSATH'BBD CONFR.^SION. 541 or waking, the last dying shrieks of Esther Oranmore have been ringinpc in my ears. My son married Lizzie Ei listen ; and his violent death was but tlie beginning of my livinj; punishment. Fur his son's sake, I have kept my dreadful secret d uing life; but now, at tht hour of death, a power over which I have no control compels me to reveal all. I am beyond the power of the law — I go to answer for my crimes at the bar of God; therefore, I fear not in making these disclosures. My hour has come." " But he shall not escape!" said Gipsy, rising from the chair, on which she sat as if petrified, while listening to the story of her birth. " No ! by the heaven above us both, his life shall pay for this ! Woman," she con- tinued, turning fiercely upon Mrs. Oranmore, "you ^hall «/?/ die until you have done justice to the child of her you have murdered ! I will send for a magistrate ; and }?»vU must make fv deposition of all you have told me to hun. Death shall not enter here yet, to cheat the gal- lows of its due !" She sprang to the bell, and rang a pea? that brought all the servants in the house flocking wildly into the room. "Go to the nearest magistrate," she said, turning t.o the boy who had accompanied her from St. Mark's — "fly! vanish! Tell him it is a matter of life and death. Go! and be back here in ten minutes, or you shall rue it !" The boy tied, frightened out of his wits by her fierce words and looks. Shutting the door in the faces of the others, Gipsy seated herself ; and setting her teeth hard together, and clenching her hands, she fixed her eyes on the floor, and sat as immovable as if turning tc stone. Mrs. Oranmore lay in silence — either not willing or ^ot able to speak. Ere fifteen minutes had thus pasted, th« boj r^ ill '' [;; 1 1 1 1 111, I !••;•.'»'• ;"; i«j [■ 350 TIf£ DKATH-BED CONFESSION, I '«t':'> if : b 1 1 ^•5 turned, accompanied V)y 1 magistralc — a short, blustdi iiig, important personage. He bowed to Gipsy — who arose apon his entrance — and began drawing off his gloves, making some remark upcm the inclemency of the weather, which she abruptly cut short, by saying : "This woman is dying, and wishes to make a depo- sition. Here are writing-materials ; sit down and com- men re — you have no time to spare." il jrricd away by her impetuosity, the little man foui'd himself, before he was aware of it, sitting by the beci-side, pen in hand, writing and listening, with many an ejaculation of wonder, horror, and amazement. At length the deposition was duly drawn up and signed, and he arose, exclaiming : " But, good heaven ! madam, do you not know, if yC'U survive, you will be arrested too, and " "Hush !" said Gipsy, sternly ; 'she is dying." " I tell you I did not murder hor," she exclaimed, almost springing up in bed ; " it was he who gave her the poison ! I never did it. Listen ! do you net hear her shrieks ? or is it not the cries of the fiends I h^ar al- re-^dy ? //'/.;!l ff, I5« JtETttiBUTIOH, \ : II that he had sotnething important to tell me, and waittcif aptivate interview. Think of that! But what is the matter with you ? \(>\\ look as if you'd been ridinjr en a broomstick all night — as if you were the Witch cl Eudor, who told King Saul's fortune long ago." As he spoke, a slow, heavy footstep was heard de- scending the stairs. "There's old VViseman now, pegging along," said the squire. " I never see him walking, since he brok« his shin-bone, that he doesn't remind me of Old Nick himself. Nuw^for this wonderful secret of his." ** Guardy, don't mention that I am here,'* said Gipsy, hurriedly. *' I have a project in hand, that I fancy will astonish him a little, by and by." " Well, be sure you're right, then go ahead, as Solo- mon says — you always have some project or other in your cranium to bother his brains." " I fancy I will bother him a little more than usuai this time," said Gipsy, with a low, bitter laugh — gliding through one door just as the doctor entered by another. Dr. Wiseman, thin and attenuated by illness, looked even more ghastly and hideous (if such a thing were pos- sible) than when we saw him last. He advanced, and took a seat near the fire. " Well, Wiseman, what's this wonderful affair you bare to tell mc?" said the squire, adjusting himself in his seat to listen. " It concerns my wife," replied the doctor, slowly. **Ves, some complaint, I'll be bound! Now, I tell fou what, Wiseman, I won't listen to your stories about Gipsy. She has always done what she liked, and she always shall, for what I care. If she likes to enjoy her- self, she will, and you nor no one else shall interfere," «aid the squire, striking the table with an empiuuic thump W' RE TjRI BUTTON. 353 Willi tctf |at is the idinjf en '^itch cl learJ de- ig," said he brok« Hd Nick » id Gipsy. incy will , as Solo- other in lan usuai —gliding another. ;S, looked were pos- Dced, and ^iflfair you limself in slowly, ow, I tell ries about I, and she :njoy her- ntcrfcrc/' empiiAtic ** Don't jump at conclusions so hastily, my dear sir," said the doctor, dry y. '* I have no complaint to make of Mrs. Wiseman. It is of her birth and parentage I would sptak." " Her birth and parentage ! Is the man mad ? Don't you know she's a foundling?" said ihc squire, utariag with all hir eyes. " Yes, but lately I have discovered who she is. You need not excite yourself, Squire Erliston, as I see you in- tend doing. Listen to me, and I will tell you all about it. The time has come for you to know. " Perhaps you are not aware th it for many years I have been the friend and confidant of Mrs. Madge Oran- more ; but so it is. I was bound to her by the strongest ties of gratitude, and willingly served her in all things. "One Christmas eve, just nineteen years ago, she sent for me in most urgent haste. I followed her messenger, and was shown to the lady's room. There I found an infant enveloped in a large shawl, which she told me I was to consign to the wnves — in a word, to drown it. You start, Squire Erliston, but such was her command. She refused to tell me what prompted her to so nendisl) an act. I was in her pow er, and she knew I dared not refuse ; I therefore consented "" "To drown the child?" said the squire, recoiling in horror. " Listen — I feared to refuse, and promised to do it. I went to the beach, the tide was out ; while I stood hes- itating, I heard a sleigh approaching. I wrapped the child up closely, and laid it right in their way, and stood aside to watch the event ; determined, in case they did not see it, to provide for it comfortably myself. Fortu- nately, they saw it. A woman who was in the sleigh ook it with her — that woman was Mrs. Gower — ^that child is now my w*fe." '■f, , Mivn- rj4 S54 RETRIBUTION. m r t'!;..' W-H; "Goo-oo-d Lord!" cjaciihiled the iquire, wtcse mouth and eyes were open to tlieir widest extent. " When you told me how she had been found, 1 knew immediately it was the same. I had long felt remoisr for what I had done, and I at once resolved to make re paration to the best of my power, by marryiiig thi foundling. This, Squire Erliston, was the secret of m) wish to marry Gipsy, which puzzled you so long. " Still, I was ctjmplcLcly igiioiant of her parentage Owing to my accident, 1 was unable to visit Mrs. Orau- more ; but I wrote to her repeatedly, threatening her with exposure if she did not immediately reveal the whole aJQfair. She grew alarmed at last, and sent me a letter that explained all, only bei^ging me not to disgrace her, by letting the world know what she had done. That letter, I regret to say, has been unhappily lost." "Well!" said the squire, breathlessly, seeing he paused. "Well, sir, she told me all. My wife is the child of your eldest daughter, Esther, and Alfred Ora.imore." Bewildered, amazed, thunderstruck, the squire sra l^az'ng upon him in a speechless horror. "The way ol rt was this" continued the doctor, as calmly as though he was ordering him a prescription. "Alfred Oranmore, as you know, was accidental!} drowned, leaving his wife in the utmost destitutior: Mrs. Oranmore heard of it, and had Esther privaiel conveyed to her house, while she caused a notice of hi death to be published in the papers. What her obji.o. was in doing this, I know not. Esther, she says, died !■: her house. How she came by nar death, I cannot even guess. I knew nothing (jf it at the timC) as I told y )u before. Mrs. Oranmore wished this child removed, that it might not be in tiie way of her son, Barry ; and think- ing I was as heartless and cruel as herself, she employed i RETRIBUTION, 555 wbcse 1 knew rem DISC nake re ijig tlu t of til) • irentage. s. Oraii- ling her jveal the nt me a disgrace le. That ;eing he 5 child of lore." quire sa.t loccor, as >cription. identall} stitutiori privaielj ce of lu ler objcc. s, died ii: not even told y >u »ved, that ad think- imployed me to drown it. Such, Squire Erliston, is ^his singular itory. 1 thought it my duty to inform you immediately." '*And Gipsy is my grandchild," said the squire, in the slow, bewildered tone of one who cannot reali2e what he says. " Ves ; and the rightful heiress of Mount Sunset," laid the wily doctor, in a slow, triumphaul tone. " And the avenger of her mother !" cried the voice of Gipsy herself, as she stood before them. " Oh, wonder- ful Doctor Wiseman ! astonishing indeed is thy talent for invention and hardiiiood. What a strain on your imagination it must have been, to invent such a story ! Have you ever heard of the proverb, ' Murder will out,' my lord and masrer ? IIo, there ! Burke and Johnston, enter ! here is your prisoner !" She opened the duor as she spoke, and the constables entered. " What in the devil's name means this?" exclaimed the doctor, growing deadly pale. " Yes', call on your master," mocked Gipsy ; "he has stood by you long, but I fear he will not serve you more. Quick, there, Burke ! on with the handcuffs. Gently, Doctor Wiseman — gently, my dear sir ; you will hurt your delicate wrists if you struggle so. Did any pro- phetic seer ever foretell, Doctor Wiseman, your end would be by the halter?" *' What means this outrage ? Unhand me, villains !" exclaimed the doctor, hoarse with rage and fear, as he struggled madly to free himself from the grasp of the constables. " Softly, doctor, softly," said Gipsy, in a voice, low, calm, and mocking ; " you are only arrested for the murder of my mother, Esther Oranmore, just nineteen years ago. Ah ! I see you /emember it. I feared such a trifle might have escaped your memory !" '^ 1 ill fj»f';l I m 356 RETRIBU2TON, X m r: N;:i?' i i !i n Tjie face of the doctor grew perfectly ghastly. He staggered back, anc would have fallen, had he not been upheld by one of tne men. Gipsy stood before h'm, with a face perfectly wluLe, save two dark purple spDts burning on either cheek. Her wild eyes were blazing with an intense iiglit, her lips wreathed in a smile ol exultant triumpii ; her long hair, streaming in dis- order down her back, gave her a look that awed even the constables tiiemselves. " And now. Doctor Wiseman," she said, in a slow, bitter, but exulting voice, " I have fulfilled my vow ol vengeance ; my revenge is complete, or will be, when your miserable body swings from the gallows. I see now, your aim in compelling me to marry you ; but you have failed. Satan has deserted his earthly representa- tive, at last. No earthly power can save you from hang- ing now. Away with him to prison ! The very ai/ ii tainted which a murderer breathes." The men advanced to bear off their prisoner. At that moment the recollection of the astrologer's fell pre- diction flashed across his mind. Word for word it had been fulfilled. Before him, in ghastly array, arose the scaffold, the hangman, his dying agonies, and X.'w*. terri- ble hereafter. Overcome by fear, horror, and rerkiorse, with a piercing shriek of utter woo» the wretched man fell senseless to the floor. "Take him away," said Gipsy, sternly, turning aside with a shuddei of disgust ; " my eyes loathe the sight of him !" They bore him away. Gipsy stood at the window listening, until the last sound of the carriage died away in the distance ; then, abruptly turning, she quitted the room, leaving the squire stunned, speechless, and bewil* dered Dy the rapidity with which all this had taken place ANOTHER %U&PR1SS, W CHAPTER XXXVH. ANOTHER SUKPRISK. " No heiress art thou, lady, but the child Of one who's still unknown." L'J coLisierna seinan's crime and and the neicrh- tic ii ana roinan circumstances attcndi ag it, imperfectly known as they were, the respectability of the parties implicated, the high standing of the prisoner in so- ciety — all coutriijuied to add to the general interest of the case. The rapid and exciting events, the startling dis- covery that Gipsy was his grandchild, so confounded and bewildered the sqairo, who was never noted for the brightness uf liis intellect, that it completely vipsct his eqiiiiiuiium • and his di^ys were passed alone, smok- ing and blaring .cupidly at every one he saw. As for Lizzie, she was luo fceDie and languid either to feci hor- ror or surprise, and a faint stare and shiver was the only effect the news produced upon her. Mrs. Gower groaned in spirit over the depravity of mankind in general, and Dr. Wiseman in particular; and generally passed her days in solemn exhortations to the servants, to be warned by his fearful example, and mend their ways. On Gipsy, therefore, all the business of the hoube- hold devolved. A great change had come over the elf ; her laughing iays seemed passed ; and quietly establish- ing herself as mistress of the household, she issutd her 358 ANOTHER SURPRISE, t W"^ !*;:■ ii i ty and calm authoiity, that rspect. She wrote to Louis, I \d occurred, and desiring orders, with a quiet di^ commanded obedience an informing- him of ? t' him to return honi*, n 'ic'iutcly. The only nioL en: - i :;!:ixriti<)n which Gipsy ever 'I lowed herself were her visii *o Valley Cottage, listen- .ug to the gentle words of Celeste — "dear Celeste," as iripsy called her. Day by day she had grown paler and frailer, her step had lost its airy lightness, her cheeks no longer wore the hue of health; but no complaint ever passed her lips. Gipsy often passed her nights at the cottage, feeling it a comfort to pour her troubles into the sympathizing ears «)f her friend. And Celeste would forget her own sorrow in soothing and consoling the poor, half-crazed little elf. Miss Hagar, whose health liad for some time been failing, was now unable to leave her bed. Fearing the shock might prove fatal. Celeste had taken care she should not hear of her brother's arrest. As for Minnette, no one knew where she wai' ; and, indeed, few cared — for her hard, selfish nature had made her disliked by all. One evening, Mrs. Gower sat in one of the upper chambers conversing with Mrs. Donne, whose life, it will be remembered, Gipsy saved. That worthy old lady was still an inmate of Sunset Hall, and unw'lling to leave her comfortable quarters while suffering with the "rheumatiz." In the confusion and excitement follow- ing the arrest, she had been almost totally neglected, and had as yet no opportunity of learning the particulars. Proridertially encountering Mrs. Gower, when really dying of curiosity, she began plying her with questions , and the worthy housekeeper, delighted to find so atten- tive a l>s^ener, sat down, and with much gravity began ANOTHER SURPRISE. 359 ity, that to Louis, desiring Ipsy ever |e, listen- este," as alcr and heeks no int ever |ts at the bles into ste would :)ling the ime been aring the care she Minnette, ^ cared — i si iked by :he upper se life, it ^ old lady v'lling to with the it follow- jcted, and rticulars. en really jcstions , so atten- ty began nav'iting' the whole afifair, whi^>; the attention cf her au .icor deepened every moment. " Laws a ir-isp; 'pon me !" exclaimed Mrs. Donne, as •he ceased ; "was she picked up on the beach, Chriitmvi eve, nineteen years ago ?" *' Yes ; astonishing, isn't it ?" "'Stonishing ! I guess so!" said Mrs. Donne; "if you knew what I do, you'd say so." "Why, what do you know? do tell me," said M. i. Gower, whose curiosity was aroused. " Well, I don't mind if I do ; though I did inte-^ \ \ ■> carry the secret to the grave v/ith me. But as I coulc 'w help it, they can't do nothing to me for losing the '^hild. "On the very night you speak of, Christmi. , ve, nineteen years ago, I was brought by a young man to a house in the distant part of the city to nurse a woman and child. The young man was tall, and dark, and powerful handsome, but sort o' fierce-looking ; and she — oh, she was the loveliest creature I ever laid my eyes onto ! She was nothin' but a child herself, too, and a furriner, I suspect, by her tongue. " Well, I staid there 'long with her, till nigh onto midnight ; and then I wrapped myself up to come home. As I was going out, he called on me to stop. So I sat down to listen, and he told me, if I'd take the child home with me, and take care on't, he'd pay me well. I liad neither chick nor child of my own. >»f;sides being a widder, and I took him at his word. He gave me a purse with a good round sum of money in it, on the spot, and promised me more. *' I took the little one, wrapped it up in my shaw<, and set out for home. "On the way I got tired ; and when I reached the beach, I sat down to rest. Two or tbfee minutes aftci, there was a great crv of fire. I became frightened; m if . ■ ¥ M W^' I *i€ 360 ANOTHER SURPRISE, dropped the baby in my confusion ; wandered off 1 know not iiow ; and when I came back, not long &ftei • ward, it was gone. *' Well, I 'cl.'ire to man ! I was most crazy. I hunted up and down the beach till nigh mornin', but I could see ao Jiigns of it ; and I supposed the tide carried the poor little thing away. 1 was dreadfully sorry, you may be sure ; but as it couldn't be helped, I thought I'd make the best of it, and say nothing about it. So when the young man came, I told him it was doing very well. And he never asked to see it, but gave me some money, and went away. "For some time after he continued sending i.ie money ; but he soon stopped altogether, and I never heard from either of them more." "Did you ever find out his name?" inquired Mrs Gower. " Yes. One day he dropped his handkerchief, going out. I picked it up, and his name was written on it in full : it was, Barry Oratwiore T *' Barry Oranmore !" repeated Mrs. Gower, thunder- struck. " Ves, that was his name ; and they were the hand- somest pair ever I saw. I'm sure I'd know either of 'em again, if ever I saw them.* Much agitated, Mrs. Gower arose, and going to where the had laid the miniature she had found on his neck when dead, she handed it to Mrs. Donne. That person- age seized it, with a stifled shriek, as she exclaimed : " My goodness gracious ! it's the picter of the lady I 'tended. I'd know that face anywhere." " Oh ! dear ! dear ! dear ! what would Miss Lizzie say if she heard this?" ejaculated Mrs. Gower, holdiag up her hands. " And the child, poor thing ! are you sure it was drowned 7" f . ANOTHER SURPRISE. 361 "Well, no ; I ain't to say sure ; but it's m;« likely. It was an odd-looking little thing, too, with a nat'ral mark, like a red cross, rig'.iL onto its shoulder, which ia something I never seed on any baby before." But to the surprise of Mrs. Donne, Mrs. Gjwer sprang panting to her feet, and grasped her by the arm, exclaiming : " On which shoulder was that mark ? Say on which shoulder !" "On the left. Laws a massy 'pon mc ! what's th matter ?" said the astonished Mrs Donne. " Good heavens ! Can the child she speaks of have been " "Who's?" inquired Mrs. Donne, eagerly. Before Mrs. Gower could reply, she heard Gipsy's foot in the passage. Going out, she caught her by the arm and drew her into the room. Then before the young lady could recover from her astonishment at this summary proceeding, she had unfastened her dress, pulled it down off her left shoulder, and displayed a iup-red cross. Recovering herself, Gipsy sprang back, exclaiming .ndignantly : "What in the name of all that's impolite, has goi into you, Aunty Gower ? Pretty work this, pul'ing the clothes off a lady's back without even saying, by your leave." But Mrs. Donne had seen the mark, and fell back, with a slitlei cry. " That's it ! that's it exactly ! She's the child saved, after all." " Why, whose child am I new f" said the astonished Gipsy. " Can you describe the shawl the child you speak of 16 ;i'> 1$ iff' ■> '. ,'i' It- J . ■■J) l\. >rii'-. H^^ U' 7* .''., 3«a ^^C7 r/^iff^ ^ URPRISE, was wrapped in ?'* inquired Mrs. Qower, w.thouc giving her time to ans ver Gipsy's question. " Yes, that I can — it was my own wedding shawl, as my blessed husband, who is now an angel up above, bought for nic afore we were married. It was briglit red with a white border, and the letters J. D. (which sWAuds for Jane Donne) in one corner, and the letter? J. D. (which stands for James Donne) in t'other," re- plied Mrs. Donne, with animation. Mrs. Gower sank into a seat and corcrcd her face with her hands ; while Gipsy stood gazing from one to the other in the utmost perplexity. " What docs all this mean ?" she asked, at length. Without replying, Mrs. Gower left the room, and presently re-appeared with a faded crimson shawl, which she spread upon the bed. Mrs. Donne uttered a cry ol joy when she saw it. " Sakes alive ! that is the very one Where on earth dio you get it ?" " Wrapped around the child." " Aunty, pray tell me what in the world does all this mean ?" exclaimed Gipsy. For reply, Mrs. Gower briefly narrated what had been told her by Mrs. Donne. The surprise of Gipsy may be imagined, but her surprise scarcely equaled her pleasure. "Thank God!" she fervently exclaimed, as Mrs. Gower ceased, " then I have not married the murderer of nay mother — that thought would have rendered me wretched to my dying day. My mot^ ir, then, may be living yet, for all you know." In her exultation Gipsy first rode over to tell Celeste, then coming home she seated herself and wrote the fol- lowing letter to Louis : Alf OTHER SVRFRISS. 3«J \ "Sunset Hall, St. Maik's, ) December 23, 18 — . J '*DiAR Louis : In my last I told you I was the child of your Aunt Esther, and Alfred Oranmore ; since then I have discovered we were mistaken. My father and vours, Louis, were the same — w!io my mother was, I kno\v not ; but Aunty Gower has shown me a likeness found on my father's neck when dead, representing a young and lovely j;irl, who must have been my mother ; for though the picture is fair, and I am dark, yet they say they can trace a sircuig resemblance between us. It seems I was taken away by the nurse the night of my birth, and left on the shore, where aunty found me. What has become of their infant is yet unknown, but it may be it, too, was saved, and will yet be found. How singularly things are turning out ! Wlio would cvei think we were brother and sister? Do hasten home, dear Louis, more hearts than one are longing for your coming. I have a thousand things yet to tell you, bu.t fou know I hate writing, so I will wait until I see you. Your aff ecti anate sUUr, OiPtT. " III !. • { :M! • /» r fi*^;; -I J^ T/f£ HEIRESS. CHAPTER XXXVIII. y^' THE HEIRESS OP SUf^SET HALL. I "A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warm, to comfort, and command ; And yet a spirit still and bright, With something ot an angel light." — Wou>SWO>.TH, SC'i 1;- (•V Hfc darkened rooms, the hushed footfalls, the whispered words, the anxious faces, betoken tlie presence of sickness. Like some long, dark efiiL;y, Miss llaijjar lies on her bed, pros- trated in l)o(ly and mind, and sick unto death By her side sits Celeste, in a quiet dress of soft gray, her golden hair lyinu^ i'^ bands on her fair cheeks, pale and thin with io.ig days and nights of unceasing watch- ing. Nevei- had the tender love and cherishing care of the young girl been so nianifested as in the sick-room of her benelaclre^s. Night and day, like some angel of mercy, she hovered over the roucii of the invalid — ready at the slighlcsi nioiion to hold the cup to her jmrched lipis, or baihe iior burning brow. Nothing could induce her lo leave her side, save, when tired Nature could watch no longer, she sought her couch to catch a few jinjuieuis* sleep. And Miss Hagar, with the usual fretful waywardness of illness, would have no one near her but Celeste. Gipsy had offered her services us assistant aurse, but was most promptly rejected. * I want Celeste Where is Celeste?" was ever the crv of the invahd. .t was the second week of Miss IJagar's illness. For •art she had been raving delirio;'sly, recognizing no THB HEIRESS, S«5 one, not even Celeste. Toward the close of the tenth day she grew worse, and the doctor pronounced the crisis of her disease at hand. Evening was approachin;^, the evening of a bleak Jaauary day. The snow was falling drearily wi',hout , and the cold wind wailed and moaned around the lonely house. The fire, burning low in the grate, cast a red» fitful, uncertain light tlirough the room, giving every- thing an unearthly, spectral appearance. Celeste sat by the window, her chin resting on her handj her eyes fixed on the desolate prospect without, her mind and heart fai away — far away. Her face was wet with tears, but she knew it not ; sobs, long and deep, that she struggled in vain to repress, swelled her bosom. Never in her life had she felt so utterly desolate ; yet a sort of awe mingled with her tears, as she felt herself in the pres- ence of death. Night fell in storm and darkness. In the deep gloom, nothing could be discerned save the white ; unearthly light of the drifting snow. Celeste arose, drew the cur- tain, lit a small lamp, and was about to resume her seat, «(^hen she heard her name pronounced by the lips of the invalid. In a moment she was bending over her. Reason had returned to its throne ; and for the first time in many weeks. Miss Hagar recognized her. "Thank God I" exclaimed Celeste, joyfully. " Dear Miss Hagar, do you not know me ?" " Certainly, Celeste," said the invalid, passing her hand across her eyes, as if to clear away a mist. " I have been ill, have I not ?" " Yes ; but now you will recover. I feared you would never speak to me more ; but now you wiil get well, and wc will be nappy together once more." ^ No, child, I will never get well. Somethiug her« ' I \\ 'm' rif "it;' JM 7y/i^ IfEfRESS. tells me that I am called," said Miss Hagar, B3.emnl]r, iayiiig her lju:id o> her heart. *'I am sinking fast, and perhaps I may never see the morning dawn. I wish I could see ihc:n all before I die. Send for my brother and Archie Rivers, and little Gipsy, and Minnetle ! Poor Minnette ! I liave been harsh to her sometimes, I am afraid ; and 1 would ask lier pardon before I depart. Why dijn't you send for them, Celeste?" Wliat shtiuid she do ? What ought she to say ? How could she tell her wliat had happened? "Dear ^Ii^s Ilagar," she said, gently, "neither the doctor, nor Miianettc, wor Archie, are at home. But if you will see Gipsy, I will go for her." "All gone ! all ^one !" murmured the sick woman, feebly, *' scattered far and wide. But you, Celeste, you have stood by me throui^h all ; yuu have been the staff and comfort of my old age. May God bless you for it ! Truly has he said : ' Cast thy bread upon the waters, and it shall return unto thee after many days.' But, child, have you never wondered who you were ; have you never wished to know who were your parents?" " Oh, yes, often!" replied Celeste, eagerly, "but I knew, when the proper thne came, you would tell mc; so I never asked." " Well, that time ha;; come at last. It is but little I can tell ; for I neither know who you are, nor what is your name. The way you came under my care is simply this: "One night, as I was rettrning home from the vil* lage, at ap. unusually late hour, a little girl came running •ut from a wretched hovel, and begged mef) enter with her, for her aunty, as she called her, was dying. I went in, and found an old woman lying on a heap of rags and •tr&w, whose end was evidently at hand. I did what 1 could for her ; but I saw she was sinkinf; fast Her THE HEIRESS. 3«7- whole care seemed to be for her little gii I, who crouched At the foot of the bed, weeping bitterly. In her anxiety for her, she seemed to forget her own sufferings. " * What will she do when 1 am gone ? Who will pro- icct her pnd care for her in this selfish world ?" *' * Is she an orphan ?" I asked. "'That I do not know. The child is a foundling, And no relation to me ; but I love her as though she were my own child. Oh ! what will become of her when I am gone ?" " * And have you no clue to her birth i** " * None. One Christmas eve, about twelve years ag^o, »Tiy husband was caught in a storm coming from A . As he was hurrying along by the shore road, he saw a sleigh in advance of him, and hastened on in hopes to overtake it. In his hurry his foot struck against some- thing on the ground, and he stumbled and fell. As he arose, he turned to examine it ; and judge of his sur- prise at finding it to be a young infant, wrapped in a long shawl, and sweetly sleeping. In his astonishment he stood rooted to the ground, unable to move, and the sleigh passed on, and was soon out of sight. It was evi- dent to him that the inmates of the sleigh had either left it there to perish, or it had accidentally fallen out. In either case, the only thing he could do was to take it oome, which he did ; and handed it to me, half frozen, tie next morning. Our own little girl was dead ; and Cilis child seemed so like a god-send to fill her place, thut I received it with joy, and resolved to adopt it, if it^ parents never claimed it. For months we lived in tiie constant dread that it would be taken from us ; but years passed on, and no inquiry was ever made concerning it. We named her Celeste ; for there was something trul)? cele&tial in her sweet, angel-like face, and loving nature &ad never did parents love any only child as we did her A % . ! I-S't '•1 1;.. 5-^! '■ Is' ■ fitj m. W f«« r^ig" HEFRESS. *' * We were in very comfortable circ imstances thr n but when Celeste was about eight years old, my husUmj died ; and after that everything seemed against us. \Vc got poorer and poorer ; and I was forced to take in sew- ing, to keep us from starving. For nearly four years \ worked at this, stitching away from daylight till dark , and then scarcely able to keep soul and body together. Celeste assisted me nobly ; but at length my health begati to fail, and T resolved to leave the city. My husband's friends had formerly resided here, and I was in hopes of finding them ; but when I came, I learned that they were all gone. Last night I was taken dangerously ill ; and now I feel that I am dying ; and my poor Celeste will be left utterly friendlet^^s and alone. She is beautiful, as you see ; and v/hat her fate may be, should she live to grow up, I date not think of. My poor, poor Celeste !* " The deep afflicti(m of the dying woman, and the fteartfelt grief of the child, touched me deeply. I re- solved that the poor orphan should not be left to strug- gle alone through the world. 1 was not rich, but still I was able to provide for her. In a few brief words I told her my resolution ; and never shall I forget the fervent gratitude that beamed from the dying eyes, sts she list- ened. " * May God forever bless you !' she exclaimed. * and may the Father of the fatherless reward you for this!' "That night she died; and next day she was buried at Uit: C7vpci>sc of the parish. I took you home ; am] since ther? y;Hi Lnve been my sole earthly joy, Celeste; and now that I am dying, I h^.zve you, as a legacy your hist or v. Perhaps some dav you may yet discover Tour paren'.b, if they J've." UticT'v e-ihar»sted. Miss, Hagar's lips ceased to move. During ?.)\ the tme -Ke had been speaking, Celeste bad renaaioed $ > a iiveied to the spot, with an emotion un- .1 THE HEIRESS. 1<« noticed by Miss Hagar. Her pale face grew whiter ami whiter, lier eyes were slowly dilating, her lips parted ; until, when the spinster ceased, her head dropped on her bauds, while she exclaimed, liaK aluud : " Can I believe my ears ? Then I am that other child left to perish on the beach tiiat stormy Christmas Eve Good heavens ! Can it be that I am the child of Esther Erliston ? Have I discovered who I am at last ?" " What are you saying there ?" said Miss Hag^r, 'cebly. "Miss Hagar!" exclaiujed Celeste, starting with sudden energy to her feet, " I am going to Sunset Hall, for Squire Erliston. You wwvA repeat this story to him ; it concerns him more than you are aware of, and will clear up a mystery he cannot now penetrate." •' As you please, child," said Miss Hagar, too weak to resist ; " but you will not stay long ?" "No; I will be back in less than an hour," replied Celeste, whose cheeks were now flushed, and her eye burning with excitement, as siie seized her cloak and liood, and hurried into the kitchen. Curly, their only servaiit, was dozing in her chair b' the hearth. Rousing her up, Celeste sent her in _ watch with her patient until her rtturn. "Remember you must not fall asleep until my turn ; I will be back very shortly," said the young ticss, as she tied on her mantle. ** But laws ! misses, you ain't a goin' out in dc storm t!?'n*ght !" said Curly, opening her eyes in wonder. " Ves, I nuist, for an hour or so. Secure the door, and do not leave Miss Ha<_;ar until I come back," said Celeste, as she (opened the door. A blinding drift of snow met her in the face ; a fierce gust of wind pierced through her wrappings, and lent the embers on the hearth whirling redly through th« I I M J, i: kiH'''-5';, 1 , L".< I' 370 Ti^i^" IlEIREMS. room. It required all her r.trongth to close the dooi after her, but she succeeded, after two or three efforts, and stepped out into the wild wintry storm. At lengiii St. Mark's was reached; and looking up, she could see ihc welcumo lights of Sunset Hall stream- ing redly 'ind wartnly ow ihc cold, drifting snow. Ele- vated above the village, its windows glowing with ligiit, it looked the very picture of a home of ease and luxury. The sight imparted new euergy to her drooping limbs; and hurrying stiil more rapidly forward, in five minutes more she stood betore the astonished inmates of the hall, all white with falling snow. For a wonder Gipsy was at home. She sat gazing into the glowing lire — a sad, dreamy look on her usually bright, dark face — iier little hands folded listlessly in her lap, thinking of one far away ; the squire, utterly disregarding all the laws of etiquette, was smoking his pipe placidly in his armchair ; and Mrs. Gower sat dozing in the chimney corner: Lizzie had been driven to her chamber by the choking fumes of the tobacco. " Good Heavens ! Celeste ! what has happened ? What has brought you out to-night in this storm ?" ex- claimed Gipsy, springing in dismay to her feet, as Celeste — her garments covered with snow-flakes — stood before them, like a moving frost-maiden. The squire, equally dismayed, had taken his pipe from his mouth, and sat staring at her in utter bewilder- ment ; while Mrs. Gower, roused from her slumbers. Jirose from her seat, and drew her over to the fire. *'No, thank you, Mrs. Gower, I cannot sit," said Celeste, hurriedly. ' Miss Hagar is dying, and has a^j important revelation to make to you, sir. It is necessary 70U should hear it. Will you accompany me back ?' ■he said, turning to the squire. Dying ! important revelations ! Lord bless ms I* M rl' THE HEIRESS, 37 > ejaculated the squire; "wont it do to-morrow /" he added, as a wild biasi made the windows rattle. " I don't care about vcntuiinj^ out in tliis storm." ** You siiali i;o, Guardy," said Gipsy, rising impet- uously, " and I'll go, too. Sit down and warm yourself, Celeste — we'll be ready in five minutes. Aunty Gower. please ring for Jupe. Pity if you can't venture out it: the storm, when Celeste h:it> walked here in it totellyoii. Jupe," siie added, as t!]ai sablo individual entered, " be off and bring round the carriage, and don't be longer than five minutes, at your peril ! Here, Totty ! Totty ! bring down my hood, and mantle, and furs ; and your master's hat, gloves, and greatcoat. Quick, the^c ■" Utterly bewiUlered by ilic rapidity with whicli these orders were given, the squire, unable to resist, found himself enveloped in his lur-lined greatcoat, seated ii tnc carriage, bet.vcen tlie two girls, ere he found voice to protest against sucii summary proceedings. The fierceness of the storm, which increased in vio- lence, precluded the possibility of entering into conver- sation ; and the explanation was, therefore, of necessity, deferred until they stood safely within the cozy kitchen of Valley Cottage. In a few brief wcrds, Celeste gave them to under- stand that it concerned that " other child," left that event- ful Christmas eve c a the bleak stormy beach. This was sufficient to rivet their attention ; and the squire, in his anxiety and impatience, forced his way into tiic sick- room, and stood by the bed-side of Miss Hagar. ** Sorry lo see you so sick. Miss Hagar ; '-on my life I am. I never expected to see you confined to your bed. Celeste — Miss Pearl, I mean — has told me you have something of the greatest importance to communicate to me." " I do not see how it can possibly concern 7011, j I7» THE HEIRESS, : I; 1' i 1 , .'If f < ' , -.i'^ f "I '' ft'-- L^, Squire Erliston," said Miss Hagar, f aintlj ; ''but sinci it is Celeste's desire, I have no objection to relato to jrou wh;.it 1 liavc already told her. Oh I" said the sufferer, turning wver with a groan. "Curly, leave the room," said Gipsy, who now en- tered ; while CcJestc tenderly raised the head of the in- valid, and lield a strengthening draught to her lips EJrokenly, feebly, and with many interruptions did the dytwg woman repeat her tale. Wonder, incredulity, and amazement were alternately depicted on the counte- nances of the iquire and Gipsy, as they listened. She ceased at last ; and totally exhausted, turned wearily aside. "Then you. Celeste, are that child. You are the heiress of Sunset Hall ! Wonderful ! wonderful I" ejaculated GIp: y, p^ile witii breathless interest. " And my gr.indcliild !" said the squire, gazing upon her like one bewildered. " Hush !" said Celeste, in a choking voice, " she is dying." It was even so. The mysterious shadow of death had fallen on that grim face, softening its gaunt outline into a look ot strange, deep awe. The eyes had a far- off, mystic gaze, as if striving to behold something dim and distant. All had fallen on their knees, and Celeste's chokiog sobs aione broke the silence. The sound seemed to disturb Miss Hagar. She turned her face, with a troubled look, on the grief-bowed f*ead of the young girl. " Do not weep for me, Celeste, but for yourself. Who will care for you when I am drad ?" " I will '" said the squire, ^ -imnly ; "she is my own flesh and blood, and all that I e is hers. She is th« loog-lost, the rightf il Heiress lount Sunset Halt" ""LAST SCENE OF ALL,* J7J Sknci lattt to ifforer, ire the ;rful !" g upon she is \ death outline a far- Qg dim loking -. She bowed . Who J own is th« A smile of i(ieCfi*bie peace settled on that djing face "Then I can go in peace," she said; *' my last care i« gone. Good- bye, Celeste. God bless you all ! Te»i ny brother I spoke of liim : and ask MinneiLc to forgive me. Minnette — Minnelie " The wordvS died away. She spoke no men: !Ier long, weary pilgrimage was over, and Miss Hagai was At rest. *' Don't cry — don't cry," said the squire, dashing a tear from his own eyes, as he stooped over the gntf- convulsed form of Celeste. *• She's gone the way of atl fiesh, the way we must all go some day. Everybody must die, you know ; it's only natural they should. * In the midst of death we are in life,' as Solomon says." CHAPTER XXXIX. 14 LAST SCENE OF ALL. i> •* Then come the wild weather, come aleet, or tnow, We will stand ty each other, however it blow — Oppression, an i sickness, and sorrow, and pain. Shall be to our true love as links to the chain." — LoMonuxow WO months have passed away. It is a balmy, genial day in March. Never shone the sun brighter, never looked St. Mark's fairer ; but within Sunset Hall all is silent and gloomy. The very servants step around on tiptoe, with hushed voices and noiseless footfalls. The squire is not in his usual seat, and the parlor is tenanted oniy by Gipsy and Celeste. The former is pacing up and down the room, with a face almost deadly pale, with •ternlj^ompressed lips, and sad, gloomy eyes. Celeste \ ^m^*'^i Iff 374 *'LAS2 SCENE OF ALL," i'i'j W w. mi- W ( is koeeling like one in prayer, her face buried in her hands ; she, too, is pale with awe and horror. To-day, Dr. Wiseman dies on the scaffold. They needed no evidence to coiKlemn him. Fear seemed to have paralyzed his cowardly soul, and he confessed all ; and fiom the moment he heard his sentence, he settled down ij a stujjur of despair, from which nothing could arouse him. The sound of carriage-wheels coming up the avenue ruiised them both, at last. Celeste sprang to her feet, and both 'otood breathless, when the door opened, and Squire Erliston entered. " VV^ell .'" came from tlie eager lips of Gipsy. "All is over," said the squire, gloomily, sinking into a seat. '* I visited him in prison, but he did not knov; me —he only stared at me with a look of stupid imbecility. I could not arouse him for a long time, until, at last, I mentioned your name, Gipsy ; then he held out his arras before him, as well as his chains would allow, and cr'ed out, in a voice of agony 1 will never forget : 'Keep her oil! keep her off ! she will murder me !' Seeing I could do nothing for him, I came away; and in that state of stupid insensibility, he was launched into eternity." Celcbte, sick and faint with terror, sank into a seat and covered her face with her hands, and Gipsy shud- dered slightly. " And so he has perished — died in his sins," she said, ^t last. "'■ Once, I vowed never to forgive him ; but 1 retract that oath. May heaven forgive him, as I do ! And now, I never want to hear his name again." " But Minnette, where can she be ? Who will tell hci •>f this .'" said Celeste, looking up. " It is most strange what can have become of her," said the squire. '* I liave spared no pains to discover her, but, so far, all has been in vain. Heaven alone knows whethei she is living or dead." " It is like her usual eccentricity," said Gipsy. " I know *" LAST SCENE OF ALL, %t 171 in her 'o-day, ["idrnce led hi J im the fi ia a |sc him. ivenue ^r feet, and ig into ecility. last, I IS arms i cred cp her [ could :ate of a seat shud- le said, ; but I I do! ell her her," scovcr alone know Aot where she is, yet I feel a sort of presentment we will meet her again." * >K 4i * * • "Gipsy, come licre," called good Mrs. Gower, one ia;, about a fortnight after, as that young lady passed \iy her room on licr way down stairs. *' Wcl). what is ii?" said Gipsy, entering, and stand- ing with her back to liic door. "Just look at this likeness ; have you ever seen any body like ii ?" Gipsy took it, and looked long and earnestly. '*VVcll," said she, at Icnj^th, "if I were a little less tawny, and had blue eyes and yellow hair, I should say it looked remarkably like myself — only I never, thf best of times, had such a pretty face.' ** Weil, 1 was just struck by its resemblance to you. I think it must be your mother's picture." " My mother's picture ! My dear Aunty Gower, whatever put such an absurd notion into your head ?" " Because I am quite sure it is. Its very resemblance to you proves this ; besides, I found it on your poor father's neck when he was dead." " It is a sweet face," said Gipsy, heaving a wistful little sigh. •' Wiio knows whether the original be liv- ing or dead ? Oh, Aunty Gower ! it may be that I still have a mother living in some quarter of the globe, who 6 ignorant she yet has a daughter alive. If I could only think so I would travel the world over to find her." At this moment Totty burst into the room, her black face all aglow with delight. " Oh, misses I Oh, Misses Sour ! Oh, Misses Gipsy! I^uess who's 'rived," she breathlessly exclaimed. "Who? who?" exclaimed both, eagerly. "Young Marse Louis ! he's down in de parlor !''' I ^^ M wid- But without waiting to hear more, Gipsy sprang from IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) / O 1.0 I.I il.25 ■A£12.8 125 It! lAO 2.2 2.0 1.4 1.6 6" Photographic Sdonces Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14SS0 (716) 872-4503 * ' V* u LAST SCENE OF ALL.** ii i^ ^ I '* I. 1..'; '- the room, burst into the parL^r, and beheld Louis stkid* ing in the middle of the floor, and the living counter- part of the picture she had just seen, leaning on his arm ! "Gipsy! my sister!" he exclaimed, but before Hq could advance toward her, a wild, passionate cry br:;k-j from the lips of the strange lady, as she sprang forward, and clasped the astonished Gipsy in her arms. ** My daughter ! my daughter !" she cried, covering her face with burning kisses. Gipsy grew deadly pale ; she strove to speak ; but wonder and joy chained her ever-ready tongue. "She is your mother, Gipsy," said Louis, answering her wild look. " I leave her to explain all to you ; your letters first revealed all to me. But Celeste — where is she ?" " In the drawing-room, reading," was the reply. He hastily quitted the room, and noiselessly opened the drawing-room door ; Celeste was there, but not read- ing. She was lying on a lounge her face hidden in thfi cushions, her hands clasped over her eyes to repress her falling tears, her heart yearning for the living and the dead. Her thoughts were of him she believed far away ; what were wealth and honors to her, without him ? Her tears fell fast and faster, while she involuntarily ex* claimed : " Oh, Louis, Louis ! where arc you now ?" " Here, by your side, Celeste, never to leave *t more !" ke answered, folding her suddenly in his arms. " 'Twas his own voice, she could not err I Throughout the breathing world's exteiC. There was but one such voice for her — So kind, so soft, so eloquent." With a wild cry, she unclasped her hands from hei eyes and looked up — looked up to encounter those dear dark eyes, she had never expected to see m»re. Great was the surprise of everybody, at this double arriyal ; and many were the explanations that followed. ±""' -jk 1 i^-,- ■ ^f _l-% lli \M:. ''LAST SCENE OF ALL.* Ill |s stk.id' :ounter' \is arm ! ^fore hi [orward, [overing ik ; but swering ; your J?here is opened ot read- n in thj5 ress her and the r away ; »? Her rily ex* )w?" more !" 9m her le dear double lowed There was Louis, who had to explain how he bad met Madame Evelini,and how he had learned her story ; and how, on reading Gipsy's account of the tale told by Mrs. Donne, he had known immediately who was her mother Then, though the task was a painful one, he was forced Jo recur to the^ fnte of Minnetl:e, and set their anxiety as rest about her. She had gone to Italy with some friends, he said ; he met her there, and learned from her she was about to take the vail, and there they would find her, safe. Then Gipsy had to recount, at length, all that had transpired since his departure — which was but briefly touched upon in her letters.. It was a strange meeting, when the two living wives of the dead husband stood face to face. Lizzie, too list- less and languid to betray much emotion of any kind, listened with faint curiosity ; but tears sprang into the eyes of Madame Evelini, as she stooped to kiss the pale brow of the little lady. She refused to be called Mrs. Oranmore ; saying that Lizzie had held the title longest, and it should still be hers. " And now there is one other matter to arrange," said Louis, taking the hand of Celeste ; " and that is, your consent to our union. Will you bestow upon me, sir, the hand of your grandchild ?" "To be sure, I will," said the squire, joyfully. "I was just going to propose, myself, that we should end the play with a wedding. We've all been in the dismals long enough, but a marriage will set us all right again. Come here, you baggage," turning to Celeste, who was blushing most becomingly ; " will you have this grace- less scamp, here, for your lord and master ? He needs somebody to look after him, or he'll be running to Tim- buctoo, or Italy, or some of those heathenish places, to- morrow or next day — just a^ he did before. Do you consent to take charge of him, and keep him in trim fof the rest of bis life ^" 'I '■ ^ '•■'■' ^i': '■■■■■\ . :j *.-. . ii 37^ Z.^.S7 SCENE OF ALL.*" It :♦■;. Wr- J ;' , i 1 #.^« *■ ^ ■i f ,1 *' Vc-es, sir," said Celeste, looking down, and speak ingin the slow, liesitating tone of her orJ.ldhood. " Hooray ! there's a sei sible answer for you. Now I propose that the weddini; takes place forthwith. Where's the good of losing time ? * Never delay till to-morrow what you can do to-day,' as Solomon says. What's your opinion, good folks ?" " Mine's decidedly the same as yours, sir," said Louis, promptly. " Then suppose the affair comes off to-morrow," said the squire, in a business-like tone. '* Oh ! no, no !" said Celeste, with such a look of alarm, that the others laughed outright ; " a month — two months — " " Nonsense," said the squire, gruflSy, ** two months indeed — no. nor two weeks, either. Next Thursday, at the furthest. You can have all your trumpery ready by that time." " You will have to yield, Celeste," said Gipsy. '* Just see how imploringly Louis looks !" " That's too soon," said Celeste, still pleading for a reprieve. " 1 never could be ready " "Yes, you could," cut in Gipsy. " I'll engage to have everything prepared ; and, like Marshal Ney, when I enter the field, the battle is won. Now, not anolhfi word. Louis, can't you make her hold her tongue? My dear mother, you must try your eloquence." "You will have to yield, my dear," said Madame, tiniling; "there is no use attempting to resist this im- petuous daughter of mine." " Of course there's not, said Gipsy — '* everybody does as I tell them. Now, Louis, take the future Mrs. Oran- more out of this. Aunty Gower and I have got to lay our heads together (figuratve)y speaking) ; for on oui shoulders, I suppose, must devolve ail the bother and bustle of preparaticn." '' LAS2 SCENE OF ALL, 379 ^ow I [here's jorrow |s your 'Ouis, said Gipsy was in her element during the rest A the wreck. The wedding was to be private — the recent d< ith cf Miss Hagar and Dr. Wiseman rendering the country fashion of a ball in the evening out of the question ; but still they bad a busy time of it in Sunset Hall. It was arranged that the newly-wedded pair should go abroad immediatelv after their marriage, accompanied by Gipsy and her mother. The wodding-day dawned, bright and beautiful, as all wedding-days should. Celeste wished to be married in the chrrch, and no one tiiought of opposing her will. Gipsy j?rood beside her, robed in white ; and if her face rivaled in pallor the dress she wore, it was thinking o^ her own gloomy bridal, and of him who had bade her an eternal farewell that night. Mrs. Govver was there, looking very fat, and happy, and respectable, in the venerable brown satin, that was never donned save on an occasion like the present. Lizzie was there, too, supported by Madame Eveiini, and looking less listless and f:'-r more cheerlul than she had been for many a day. ThCiC was the squire, looking very pompous and dog- matical, waiting to give the bride away, and repeating, inwardly, all the proverbs lie could recollect, by way of *ffer'.ng up a prayer for their happiness. There was Louis, so tall, and stately, and handsome, looking the K?.i\ happiest individual in existence. And lastly, there was our own Celeste — our "Star of the Valley* — Eweoter and fairer than ever, with her blushing face, and drooping eyes, and gentle heart fluttering with joy and happiness. The church was crowded to excess ; and a universal buzz of admiration greeted the bridal pair, as they entered. Beneath the gaze 3f a hiindred eyes they fnoved up the aisle, and I 380 *'LAS2 SCEJVE OF ALL." " Before the altar now ([my stand — th3 br-degroom and the bride } And who can tell what luvcrs feel in this, their hour of pride.** A few words and all was over ; and leaning on th« arm of the proud and happy Louis, Celeste received the congratulations of her friends. Breakfast awaited them on their return to the hall. Immediately after, they were to start for Washington ^ but before departing, Celeste, turning to Louis, said : " Before I go, I would visit the grave of poor Miss Hagar. Come with me." It was not far from Sunset Hall. A white marbU tombstone marked the spot, bearing the inscnption : Sacred to the Memory OF HAGAR WISEMAN. \ i ■ \ i- . . i;, It' '♦1, And underneath were the words : " Bloued are the dead who die in the Lord." Tears fell fast from the eyes of Celeste, as she knelt by that lonely grave ; but they were not all tears of sorrow. "And this is Venice ! Bless me I what a queer-look' ing old place !" exclaimed Gipsy, lying back amid the cushions of a gondola. " How in the world do they manage to make everything look so funny ? Thii gondola, or whatever they call it, is quite a comfortable place to go to sleep in. I'll bring one of them home to sail on the bay — I will, as sure as shooting. Mayl-e It won't astonish the natives, slightly. Well this is a nice climate, and no mistake. I don't think I'd have any objection to pitching my tent here, myself. What's thii tbe poet says — "LAST SCENE OP ALL." J«» bride } pridd.'* on th« ved the le hall, ngton, aid : >r Miss marble |on : e knelt tears of jr-look- mid the io they Thii or table n home Mayl-e lis is a ive any It's this '* If woman can make the worst wilderneM dear, Think, tliink wiiai a imaveii slie w(aild make of tbii ere !" " Oh, what a shame ! to parody the * Light of the Harem,' " said Celeste, laughing. " But here we are, on land." It was the day after their arrival in Venice ; and, now, under the guidance of Louis, they were going, in a body, to visit Minnette. They reached the convent, and were admitted by the old portress — who, as if it were a matter of course, ushered them into the chapel and left them. For a moment, the whole party stood still in awe The church was hung with black, and dimly lighted b} wax tapers. Clouds of incense filled the air, and the black robed figures of the nuns looked like shadows, as they knelt in prayer. Many strangers were present, but a deep, solemn hush reigned around. The cause of all this was soon explained. At the foot of the £,ltar, robed in her nun's dress, the lifeless form of one of the sisterhood lay in state. The beautiful face, shaded by the long, black vail, wore an expression of heavenly peace ; the white hands clasped a crucifix to the cold breast. A nan stood at her head, and another at her feet — holding lighted tapers in their hands — so still and motionless, that they resembled statues. It was Minnette ! Their hearts almost ceased to beat, as they gazed. The look of deep calm — of child-like rest —on her face, forbade sorrow, but inspired awe. More lovely, and far more gentle than she had ever looked in life, she lay, with a smile still wreathing the sweet, beautiful lips. The blind eyes saw at last. Suddenly, the deep, solemn stillness was broken, by the low, mournful wail of the organ ; and like a wile Ciy, many voices chanted forth the dirge : It f TV; j83 '* /:/Sf.S7' SCKNK OF ALL."* '* Dies 'rae. dies ilia Solvet saeclum in favilla. Pie Jesu Dominie, Dona eis requiem." Not one heart there, but echoed tlie burden of the gnmd old hymn : ** Lord of mercy — Jesus blest, Grant thy sccvant light and rest I" ' Let US go — this scene is loo much for you," said Louis, as Celeste, clung, pale and trembling, to his arm. And together they quitted the convent. They were followed by one, who, leaning against a pillar, had watched them intently all the time. He stepped after them into the street ; and Louis, suddenly looking up, beheld him. " Archie !" he cried, in a tone of mingled amazement and delight. A stifled shriek broke from the lips of Gipsy, at the name. Yes, it was indeed our old friend Archie — no longer the laughing, fun-loving Archie of other days, but looking pale, and thin, and almost stern. " O, dear Archie ! how glad I am to see you again !** exclaimed Celeste, seizing one of his hands, while Louis wrung the other ; and Gipsy drew back, turning first red, and then pale, and then red again. Madame Evelini, alone, looked very much puzzled what to make of the whole affair. "Surely, you have not forgotten your old friend, Gipsy?" said Louis, at last, stepping asidj and placicg them face to face, " I am happy to meet you again, Mrs. Wiseman," said Archie, bowing coldly. " Well, if you are' said Louis, looking at him with 1 doubtful expression, "your looks most confoundedlj belie your words. Let me present you to Madam* BTtliai, Mrik Wiseman's mother." *' LAST SCPlN/'l OF ALL" 3«3 " Her mother !" cried tlie asionishcd Archie. •* Why, yes. Surely, you don't mean to say you have not heard of the strange events that have lately takes place at St. Mark's ?" " Even so ; I am in a state of most lamentable igno: ance. I pray you, enlighten me." " What ! have you not even heard that youi anclo Dr. Wiseman — and Miss Hagar were dead ?" " Dead !" said Archie, starting, and looking at Gipsj) whose face was now hidden by her vail. "Yes; but I see you know nothing about it. Come home with us, and you shall hear all." " Yes, do," urged Celeste ; " Louis and I will be de- Ughted to have you join us." " Louis and /," repeated Archie, rather mischiev^ ously ; " then I perceive I have the honor of addressing Mrs. Oranmore." Of course, Celeste laughed and blushed, according to the rule in such cases. But the scene they had just witnessed had saddened the whole party ; and the jour- ney back was performed in silence. Gipsy was the grav- est of all ; and, leaning back in the gondola, with her vail over her face, she never condescended to open hei lips, save when directly addressed ; and then her answers were much shorter than sweet. But when they went home, to their hotel, and every- thing was explained, and he had learned how G' isy had been forced into a marriage she abhorred, and the tcr rible retribution that befell the murderer, matters begar to assume a different appearance. Mr. Rivers had long been of the opinion that " ii is not good for man to be alone," and firmly believed in the scriptural injunction of becoming a husband of one wife ; and concluded, by proposing in due form to Gipsy — who, after some press ing, consented to make him happy. F '• .'' i I' '"! J«4 ''LAST SCENE OF ALL,' W J- " But not till we go home," was the reply to mil bit entreaties. " I'm just going to get married at dear old St. Mark's, and no place else ; and give Aunty Gower a rhancc to give her brown satin dress another airing — as ours is likely to be the last wedding at Sunset Hall for iiome time, unless guardy takes it into his head to gci rmarried. Now, you needn t coax ; I won't liave you tii^. we get home, that's flat." And to this resolution she ad- hered, in spite of all his persuasions. The bridal tour was, of necessity, much shortened by the desperate haste of Archie — who, like the man with the cork leg, seemed unable to rest in any place ; and tore like a comet through Europe, and breathed not freely until they stood once more on American soil. And three weeks after, a wedding took place at St. Mark's, that surpassed everything of the kind that had ever been heard c f before. Good Aunty Gower was in ecstasies ; and the squire, before the party dispersed, full of chair pagnc and emotion, arose to propose a toast. "Ladies and fellow-citizens: On the present inter- esting occasion, I rise to " — here the speaker took a pinch of snuff — " I rise to " — here a violent sneeze inter- rupted him, and drew from him the involuntary remark : " Lord ! what a cold I've got ! — as I was saying, I rise to propose the health and happiness of the bride and bride- vroom ;" (cheers) "like the flag of our native land, long iiay they wave !" (desperate cheering). " Marriage, like liberty, is a great institution ; and I would advise every rrngle man present to try it. If he has heretofore given up the idea, let him pluck up courage and try again. * Better late than never,' as Solomon says." THE INOi to mil bit : dear old Gower a .iring — as ; Mall for ad to get e you tii'i m she ad* rtened by man with iace ; and ithed not soil. ace at St. that had er was in iispersed, >ropose a 2nt inter- r took a 2ze inter- remark : , I rise to nd bride- md, long iage, like ise every )re given y again.